Within us, a stranger
by PassionsInsanity
Summary: No.7. The team's newest case takes them to Atlanta; OC Abby Scott's city. As they try to catch a disorganised and potential spree killer, Abby must move forward after breaking off the affair with Morgan, while coming to terms with her old team and the old wounds she thought had healed. Meanwhile, several agents proof to have some sort of hidden agenda going on as well. AU. OC.
1. With an evil thought

_"All that we are is the result of what we have thought. If a man speaks or acts with an evil thought, pain follows him. If a man speaks or acts with a pure thought, happiness follows him, like a shadow that never leaves him."_

Buddha

* * *

December.

Monday.

Four days later.

08.01

He was pacing. He paced a lot. Especially lately. But now, he was pacing even more. From left to right. Up and down. Left. Up. Down. Right. Up. Left. Down. Up. Right. Left. Right. Down. Left. Up. She wondered if he had set his carpet on fire yet. Morgan stood outside Hotch' office, talking to a red head from administration. His right arm was carefully tucked away in a blue sling, one that hugged his torso. Yet Abby made sure her eyes never wondered down the lines of his muscles. Down the line of his back, lingering around his perfectly formed ass. Down the lines of his face when he smiled at miss Administration. No. Her eyes followed the grim exterior of a man she respected, but now seemed occupied and wondering as he paced around in his room.

"Morning." Reid gently dropped his brown leather shoulder bag on his desk and greeted Prentiss and Abby.

"Morning Reid." Prentiss replied friendly, stationed behind her desk, going through a small amount of paperwork. "How was your weekend?"

The young doctor only shrugged. "It was okay." His eyes never left Abby's face and her sitting position behind her desk, her chair rotated towards the upper level.

"Oh, don't mind her. She's been like that for at least fifteen minutes. She's convinced something's going on." Prentiss commented when she noticed Reid's worried expression when looking at his colleague.

"He's pacing." Abby mumbled, her left index finger brushing past her lips.

Reid turned to watch Hotch' office as well and he frowned. "He_ is_ pacing."

"Not you too." Prentiss groaned.

"He was on the phone for a pretty long time too." Abby said absentminded.

Both observing agents noted that their supervisor had turned towards the door and opened it. As quickly as possible, they returned to their duties, keeping an eye on Hotch from the corner of their eyes. Because of that they could see that Morgan addressed Hotch, but he wasn't expecting it. They talked, shortly, and then Hotch' eyes went over the bullpen in the unit.

"Scott! My office." Before she could react, Hotch had pivoted on his feet and re-entered his castle. With narrowed brows, Abby looked at Reid before heading into the direction of the boss' office. She knocked on the door before entering – ignoring Morgan and his confused looks - and shuffled towards the chair. "It's way too early; I couldn't have done anything yet."

With one glare, Hotch shut her up. "Atlanta called."

A hand called 'fear' got a hold of her heart and squeezed tight. She sat down. "They did?" Pause. "Uhm.. About what?"

"They need our assistance. SCU is wrapped up in a case and they need us with a series of murders."

"Okay…"

"We'll be working with your old boss, David McCallister."

"Mac's a good guy."

"We'll be using their department, their offices."

"Okay."

"We're even bringing Garcia along." Hotch pushed.

"Okay."

"You sure you're okay with it?"

Abby frowned. "Ya, why wouldn't I be?"

"Last thing we need is you trying to even a score. Or to prove yourself." He replied. He kept looking at her, staring her down, his deep brown eyes trying to penetrate her thoughts.

"I could give you a tour through the neighbourhood." She joked.

"I'd rather have it that you sit this one out."

"Then keep me here." She retorted. He was playing a game and hoped she would bite, but she didn't and she was done playing games.

"Conference in five."

"Aye aye chief." Abby exited the room and jogged down the stairs. Reid's eager eyes locked on her somewhat pretty face and kept waiting till she would talk. Instead, Abby tried to ignore him for as long as she could and grabbed a notebook and pen.

"Well?! What was it all about?" The young genius finally asked.

"Embrace yourself Smartie, you're about to step into my world." She said, grinning widely and she was close to doing a happy-dance. Luckily, she was able to restrain herself.

Five minutes later, Morgan walked into the conference room. Prentiss, Reid and Abby had already taken a front row seat. Hotch was wrapping up his phone call and JJ walked up the stairs with a fresh cup of coffee. Morgan, holding his own cup of coffee in one hand, was only winching visibly to a keen set of eyes. He had trouble pressing his files between his elbow and side and they were slowly slipping from his clothed grasp. Just as Prentiss readied herself to stand up and give her colleague a hand, Rossi appeared behind him and snatched the files from his fading grip.

"Shouldn't you still be on bed rest?"

"This place will go to hell if I'm not around, Rossi." Morgan replied playfully, winking at the elder agent.

"What? Got tired of the pretty nurses taking care of you night and day?"

"Nah. They just weren't so pretty anymore." Ross and Prentiss chuckled at his joke, Reid didn't fully understand it and kept gazing up at Morgan and Abby was too anxious. They were going to her city. _Her_ city. Her town, her place, her kingdom. There, she would be able to show them how good she was. What she was made off. And perhaps, even, unravel what the heck had gone wrong with her own team; why she got kicked out and what to do to get back on the SCU. Because now that it was clear that Wills had transferred her, she reckoned there must be something that she did wrong for them to dump her at the BAU. Or so she figured.

As Hotchner marched into the room and the last of the team took their seats, they grew silent and waited for JJ to begin.

"Atlanta, Georgia,-" A few eyes were flashed towards Abby. "- has been dealing with a series of murders. So far four victims have been found dead in a rather small area in midtown Atlanta. The victims were all different; different age, different gender, different race, different looks, everything. They all seem completely random. Two of the victims were killed by a sharp instrument, most likely a bottle. The second victim, Alexander Brooks, thirty-seven, was killed because of blunt force trauma to the back of his head; coroner suspects a big rock or stone. The third victim, Sally Burke, mother of four, was stabbed in the neck with a pipe. The fourth victim was discovered this morning - his name was Ike Charles-Washington."

"What makes Atlanta PD think this is one UnSub?" Morgan asked.

JJ shared a look with Hotch and her eyes briefly wandered in Abby's direction. "The call didn't come from Atlanta PD. The SCU in Atlanta called. Section Chief David McCallister to be exact."

"SCU couldn't handle it themselves?" Prentiss wondered out loud.

"The primary team was working the case, but they got a priority call. Pretty big by the way, their primary and secondary team were both pulled away from their cases."

"But why? Are they even sure this is connected?" The dark, wounded agent pressed.

"They found prints at the scenes. They all match, they just don't know to whom."

"And they need our help finding him." Rossi added almost solemnly, observing the crime scene pictures in his hand.

"And fast." JJ commented. She had full attention once again. "McCallister thinks they have a spree killer on their hands and it will only get worse. The first murder happened two weeks ago, the last was discovered this morning."

"He's escalating. Three kills in the last week. He's deteriorating." The elder agent said.

"So, who is this McCallister guy anyway?" Morgan asked, his face grimacing once he saw what was left of the first victims face, Jizabelle Montgomery.

"Perhaps you should ask Frankie." JJ said, almost awkwardly, and eyes and head turned to the young agent. "He's her old boss."

Abby waited with her reply. She had been busy studying the pictures and rapports they had so far and looked at the group from under her brows and a wide lock of hair. "Mac's a good guy." It remained quiet in the room. Abby looked up again. "He really is. I just don't like him."

"Scott's right. McCallister is a good guy. I worked with him for three months years ago. He's good."

"Is there anything else connecting the scenes?" The youngest woman in the room asked. "Was there anything stolen or taken or written or perhaps even something done to the victims?"

"Aside from the mutilation and the overkill with two of the victims and the fingerprints, no."

"So we're practically flying blind." Prentiss stated.

"We've dealt with less. Wheels up in thirty." And with that Hotch ended the briefing and left the room, followed slowly by the rest.

JJ headed in the direction of her office, presumably to grab her go-bag and all the paperwork she was responsible for, and Abby set foot towards the computer labs when she heard Morgan call out to her. Reid had been lured away by the coffee machine and would catch up with her later.

"Abs." He was a few feet away and the hallway was deserted, otherwise he wouldn't have called her 'Abs'.

_Abs. Oh God. Personal._

She fought the urge to run away and curiosity stirred inside of her stomach. "Ya?" She pretended she didn't know who called her name. "Morgan." She tried to sound surprised, but she wasn't sure if he bought it.

"Are we, y'know, okay?"

_Define 'we'. Define 'okay'. _

"Uhm, yeah, sure."

"It's just – I haven't seen you much, so I wasn't sure if we were cool. After… Y'know."

He actually looked rather cute when he felt truly uneasy, Abby figured. "Oh! Ya, no, we're cool. How's the shoulder?"

"Better."

"Good. You'll be up and running in no time."

He only smiled at the floor for a second.

"Anything else?" She asked.

"No. Thanks."

"Welcome."

Morgan smiled at her again before turning on his feet and going back into the BAU, passing by Reid on the way. Abby's favourite genius brought the cup to his lips as he halted and looked at Morgan's back.

"Haa-awkward." Abby said to him in an almost sing-song tone of voice.

"What?"

"Nothing gets past you, eh?" She joked and Reid grinned at her.

"Sorry."

They both headed down the corridor.

"So, does this mean.."

"Ya."

"Okay.."

"Ya."

"That's.."

"Ya."

Reid sent her another one of his famous smiles before their ways parted.

December.

Monday.

Same day.

08.59

One point nine-four-four seconds away. Two feet. One point six-three-eight seconds. Two feet. One point one-seven-seven seconds. One feet. Zero point eight-two-five seconds. One feet. Zero point two-five-six seconds. Almost there.

"Scott!"

She had been two tenth of a second away from a plane that would take her back to her hometown. Her home land, her city, her home, her everything. Whilst she had been anxious to return, she also felt nervous. It would be different. Last time she visited Atlanta for a case was to assist on the Whitewater Creek killer case - but that was nearly a month ago. And besides, she had _assisted_ her old team on the case. Now, she would take on one of SCU's cases with her new team. That was like comparing birds to fish, stone with air, feet with lungs and black with the sun. Unfortunately for Abby, she could not shoot the man that called out to her. Because he had been entitled the name 'supervisor' and it disabled her from killing him secretly.

Abby turned and waited for the exhausted man that approached her. Reid halted in the entrance of the plane but she told him to go ahead. She reckoned whatever Hotchner had to say, was something private. The rest of the team was already on board.

"That thing with you and McCallister. That wasn't about Newman, was it?"

She looked at him. The wind was strong and small locks of hair flew that managed to set themselves free from the grip of the elastic hair band, danced around and tickled the skin on her face. "No. And with all due respect sir, it's none of your business. I don't like him. He doesn't like me. Don't know why, never tried to figure it out. End of story." She left Hotch on the stairs and entered the plane, feeling more than white-hot furious. He was sticking his nose more and more into her business and she didn't like it. She felt questioned and doubted. Worst was, she couldn't figure out why she felt that way. They were pressing her in a corner and she keep seeing options and escape-possibilities disappear in thin air. How did they manage to get her in a corner in the first place? Or rather: why did she have the feeling she was being cornered?

She thought last case's 'panic attack' could have something to do with it, but the doctors cleared her and she was cleared for duty. She even visited a shrink to convince Hotch, and Strauss for that matter, that she was alright indeed. Other than getting the shrink's number, she wasn't sure if she had gained anything by it. Then again, psychologists of all degrees brought up her tendency to lie. And she liked lying like that. She liked to fool people that studied their whole lives to pry into other's life, judging them whilst pretending to help them, and classifying them into little groups – each with their own label, symptoms and 'how to treat' guide. Still, she did get two days off and happily spend her time with Bird the German shepherd in Washington D.C., where she visited an old friend, lie detection expert Cal Lightman, and his daughter.

In Washington, the change of season was clearly visible. Abby grew up in Georgia and was a real 'Georgia-woman'. She hated snow. She disliked the change of season that was too different and she liked all sorts of different food. She was, however, a Republican. From the 60 different languages spoken in Atlanta, she understood and managed to hold a short conversation in 6 languages and fluently spoke 4. She was a fan of the Atlanta Trashers but preferred football; the Atlanta Falcons. Football with her friends was one of the few things she would push work aside for. She took the hike along the Appalachian Trail when she turned 18. She practiced a lot of rock climbing, especially in her earlier years and loved whitewater paddling. Yet, despite all this. with her English mother and the years she studied in England, she held on to her English accent. A neighbour once joked that she looked Georgian, she walked and acted like one, but once she opened her mouth she suddenly was an English brat that stayed when the English came and chased the Indians away.

It was a cloudy day and Abby couldn't see any land through the plane's window. She glanced at her watch and estimated they should be flying over West Virginia by now. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Rossi looking at her, as he sat in the booth across from her. She wondered when someone would speak up. She didn't have to wonder for too long; young doctor Reid returned to his seat with a hot cup of coffee and sat down on the other side of the table. He smiled gently at her.

"Nervous?" He asked.

Abby sent him her mischievous smile and shook her head.

"I've heard a few stories about the SCU, but what is it, really?" Garcia asked. The blonde sat next to her personal superhero and was knitting, creating something that looked like a sock. Morgan and JJ lowered the files they were holding and also turned their focus on the young female agent.

"It's a special crimes unit."

"What sort of cases did you usually handle?" Rossi continued asking.

"All sorts. But mostly it were the more brutal crimes, the serial offenders, abductions, strange killings that the police didn't think they could handle. Sometimes we were asked to come, sometimes we invited ourselves."

"You worked together with the police, helped them out?"

"The SCU doesn't help anyone out. They take over." She replied.

"Sounds like something that could cause a lot of tension." Morgan commented.

Abby shrugged. "In the beginning, yeah, there have been difficulties. But at some point the SCU started building a reputation, a name. The only problems we had then were overachieving deputies and young cops in charge."

"So you're actually a bit like the Georgia Bureau of Investigation." Prentiss said.

"Not really. We mostly handled cases in and surrounding Atlanta. The GBI handles them throughout Georgia."

"So, what did you do?" Garcia asked with a smile on her face as she sat down with a cup of coffee next to Reid. She had put aside half the sock she was creating and wore an expression on her face of a child getting ready for a children's story.

"What did I do?" Abby replied as her eyebrows narrowed in confusion.

"Yeah, what did you do. I don't really see you as the computer nerd or something."

"We didn't really have a picking order like that. Miles is the computer nerd though. You'll love him."

"We'll see about that." She joked.

"I'm sure you all had your specialties." Rossi started and let his voice trail off, inviting Abby to answer.

"I was second negotiator and violent crimes expert. I was the trouble maker. I was the best shot. I was first lead in undercover operations. And I was the interrogation expert."

"Really?" JJ asked, almost in disbelieve.

"Ya. Why? Is that so hard to believe?" A small smile formed around Abby's lips, but her eyes were set keen on discovering emotions on JJ's face.

"No. I just-… I don't know, you don't seem like such a type."

"What, I look more like a follower to you?"

"No." JJ paused as she sought for words. "I just didn't know that you had such a rather impressive function within that team."

"Yeah…" Abby stared down at her empty cup for a second and then looked back up.

"What else can you tell us about the SCU?" Morgan spoke, his eyes penetrating her mind forcefully, looking for anything that could help him determine what he should expect and get a read on Abby's state of mind.

"Well, the SCU started back in 2000, founded by Angie Wills and Trevor Harrison. In 2002 the primary team was demoted to secondary as a completely new, selected and handpicked team became primary. That's when Cuba, Ricardo Pinõ was asked to join. Holly 'Lewy' Lewis joined the team shortly after Gina 'Angel' Angeholis and Ben 'Laker' Ooster. They received a lot of criticism for creating such a young and new team but in '03 the numbers were so convincing, they received an additional budget to expand. That expansion took form in a small computer SCU unit; that's when Miles joined the team in 2004. First as general computer technician, then as primary team analyst and in '08 he became a profiler. Later in '04 Will 'Big Guy' Trent resigned from the primary team. In 2005 the numbers were so impressive the SCU earned their own building unit and added a third team. I joined in '06. A year later three of our team members were killed, including the team leader, Harrison. Wills took over and a fourth team was set up for trainees and interns."

"Who joined the team after your team members were killed?" Rossi asked, seeming interested but Abby's gut told her there was an underlying meaning.

"No one was asked after they got killed. Applications for the primary team were closed."

"Your boss agreed with that?" Prentiss sounded surprised.

"He knows his teams. He knew we wouldn't accept anyone else. It worked, we worked."

"He? I thought Wills was a 'she'?" JJ replied.

"Angie Wills is team leader. But David McCallister is the unit chief. He runs the SCU department."

"I hope he's nicer than Strauss." Garcia joked.

Most of them snorted as Abby replied to her joke. "Mac and I have one thing in common."

"Which is?" Garcia continued.

"Our mutual grudge against each other." Abby smiled. "But he's a good guy."

As soon as they flew more South, Abby noticed the lack of snow and the clearer sky. Anxiety wrestled with her stomach and she felt it flip when she spotted the first trees of the Chattahoochee National Forest.

_There you are, Home._

* * *

_"It is necessary to help others, not only in our prayers, but in our daily lives. If we find we cannot help others, the least we can do is to desist from harming them."_

Dalai Lama


	2. The mistakes of fools

_"For this reason, strangers are not really conceived as individuals, but as strangers of a particular type: the element of distance is no less general in regard to them than the element of nearness." _

Georg Simmel

* * *

December.

Monday.

Same day.

10.34

During the three and a half hour flight, the team discussed the case avidly. As Atlanta came closer, Abby started feeling more nervous. She often found her thoughts wondering, taking a walk, and had to force herself to focus on the case. She remembered all too well what had happened last time she forgot to pay attention. The dark, deity man sitting across from her with his right arm in a sling reminded her sharply every time she laid her eyes upon him. Hotch had pulled their attention from Abby and the SCU by joining the group with an open case file in his hands.

"Well, he's definitely disorganized." Prentiss started. "He used whatever he could find as a murder weapon, he's sloppy and he leaves his fingerprints behind."

"Blitz attack." Rossi commented.

"Did you know that each serial killer is actually a bit of organized and disorganized?" Reid stated bluntly, looking up once he noticed the silence. "The classification of the disorganized/organized dichotomy is a simplification of the psychiatric terms "psychotic" or disorganized and "psychopathic" or organized for the benefit of law enforcement investigators. As a matter of fact, the idea of organized/disorganized dichotomy was actually developed by the FBI's Behavioural Science Unit in 1974 in order to more effectively investigate serial rapes and homicides."

"You-" Garcia said, sitting comfortably next to Morgan, her blonde hair shimmering in the faint light, "- are so freaky sometimes."

Both Reid and Abby smiled.

"Scott, what's the basic profile for a disorganized killer?" Hotch interrupted their abstruse conversation yet his eyes never left the black ink on the papers in front of him.

She halted, for a second, and her eyes interlaced with Reid's. "Uhm, okay. Age is usually between sixteen till his thirties. Of low intelligence, socially inept, could be sexually incompetent, he feels inferior, he is considered a loner, a freak. He probably lives alone or with parents or guardians and is very reclusive. He could show signs of a severe mental illness, he's likely to have been abused physically and/or sexually as a child, it's highly possible he is in a confused and/or frightened state of mind. IQ usually ranges between eighty-five and ninety. You want me to go deeper?"

"Is that even possible?" JJ asked, having trouble with taking in so many information. Abby tried to keep the speed of the words coming out of her mouth as slow as possible.

"Disorganization may arise from the youth of the offender, his lack of criminal sophistication, drug or alcohol abuse or mental deficiency. Victims are quite often people that knew him somehow. He gains confidence from his surroundings. Overkill is frequently present. The UnSub can feel inadequate.

If he sexually assaults the victim, the victim will be dying or dead already. They can engage in necrophilia and stabbing or biting types of mutilation. He can ejaculate on the victim's clothing or in the wounds. They will typically murder their victims by asphyxiation, strangulation, blunt force or the use of a pointed or sharp instrument."

"You wrote the book on disorganized serial offenders or something?" Morgan said, almost amazed. He stared at her with a partially blank expression, yet his brows were slightly narrowed.

She smiled. "Disorganized killings are usually the most violent." She shrugged once she explained, yet Garcia was still staring at her.

"Okay, so disorganized killer, where do we start? Reid?" Hotch continued.

"He lives close by, probably used the bus or the subway to get to the scenes."

"Endless possibilities though, Atlanta is a transportation hub." Rossi reminded them, the file loosely in his hands, the other resting on the arm of the couch.

"Want me or the Genius to state the facts?" Abby said, grinning widely when seeing JJ's and Garcia's faces.

"Please! No more facts." The blondes replied quickly.

"I'll get started on a geographical profile, see what I can do." Reid said to answer Hotch' question. "Prentiss, Rossi, visit the first two scene's. They've all been cleaned up already, but just make a good sketch of it. Morgan and Scott, you will meet agents Bronckovic and Lewis at the last scene. Apparently they were first there and will walk you through shortly. They don't have much time though, as Wills kindly pressed. JJ and I will head to the SCU, they offered us some space seeing they will be our most valuable resource. We'll start on victimology. Garcia, I want a list of patients with a mental illness in the area and cross-reference it with what Scott just gave you."

"On it." The witty computer expert replied.

Each member of the team nodded in agreement. Soon, their thoughts were diverted from casual talks over a cup of coffee to once more delve themselves into a completely different, violent and morbid world.

December.

Monday.

Same day.

13.07

As soon as she knew for sure her boss wouldn't shoot her or airport officials would chase her around the world, Abby grabbed her smokes from her backpack and lit one. Their ways parted as each group entered the black SUV's that had been parked near the exit of the excruciatingly large parking lot. Abby cut Morgan off just when he wanted to open the door of the driver's seat.

"I'm driving." She made sure her voice was strong and ardent enough, yet sounded casual to avoid him starting a discussion. Abby snatched the keys from his long, smooth fingers and blew out some smoke whilst she waited for him to step aside.

"No you're not." Morgan too tried to keep his voice calm and cool to get the upper hand in the discussion that was bound to follow - despite both their efforts not to start bickering like they always did.

"This is my old neighbourhood, I owned these streets; I'm driving. Besides, you can't even drive!"

"I _can _drive! I'm fine." He lifted his wounded arm – he took of the sling back in the plane- to prove his point.

"Morgan, let her drive." Hotch said to his faithful right hand without even looking at the scene. From behind his dark shades, Abby could see his eyes getting wide and his eyebrows were raised, almost in offense, but he remained quiet and headed towards the passenger's seat. "Yes ma'am."

"And Morgan? Put the arm back in the sling please." Hotch added.

Abby smirked but whipped the satisfied grin off her face when Morgan raised his finger at her. "Loose the grin Scott."

"Yes sir."

Ten minutes later, Abby had rested her head against the window frame of the car, the window down, the sun caressing her face gently and she blew out some smoke. Once they reached the highway, they immediately got stuck in traffic. She pushed her sunglasses back on the bridge of her nose and tossed the cigarette butt away.

"Would you stop smiling already?"

She looked at her partner. He looked annoyed. "Sorry."

"I can't believe you even missed these traffic jams."

"Who says I missed the traffic jams?"

"You're smiling."

"I miss this smell. It's so much cleaner back in DC."

"What, you like the smell of pollution?"

Abby sent him a glare that was supposed to shut him up, but he chuckled amused and sighed again. "No." She started. "This is the scent of the city. The scent of thousands of people calling this place home. Day or night, they come home to this place."

A wise man as he is, Morgan kept quiet.

Half an hour later they finally left Atlanta's terrible traffic behind them and entered the city. It felt good to be back and Abby instantly felt at home again. Ike Charles-Washington, the latest victim, had been found under the viaduct on Whitehall street, which meant that Abby would have to wait to see the SCU headquarters again. There was an awkward tension between the two of them and Abby wasn't sure if it were the lover's leftovers or just the whole situation in general. About five minutes away from the crime scene, Morgan finally opened his mouth. By the controlled look on his face, Abby guessed that he had been chewing on the words for quite some time.

"How long have you known these streets?" He asked.

"Why are you asking?" Abby shot back, knowing exactly where this was going as she took a right.

"It takes a long time to actually know the streets, let alone 'own' them." Morgan let the silence fill in the rest.

"I grew up here. I was an active kid, always running around. Only time I ever was indoors was for sleep and school, if I went at all. Hell, I practically grew up on these streets. I cleaned them up with the DEA, then protected them with CIRG. By the time I joined the SCU, everybody knew who I was and I knew them. If there was trouble, I would know about it. I know these streets Morgan," She turned the last corner and parked the car near a police squad, the yellow tape like a beacon right in front of them. "Like the back of my hand. I know them better than the hobos. I know my city, as my city knows me."

Recognizing faces, Abby exited the car and didn't wait for Morgan. As she passed the hot hood of the black SUV, she pointed her finger at him. "And don't you dare question that, especially not whilst were _in_ that very city." She made her point clear.

"Okay." Was his only reply as he followed her, like a lion taking in his surroundings.

Baggy, light grey jeans. Hell blue and white checked long sleeved cotton shirt. Worn black All-stars. Leather jacket. Dark blond hair like he just got out of bed. Next to him - tight black jeans with dark boots and a dark red blouse tucked behind the waistband of her jeans. Black hair tied up in a ponytail with her hands in her pockets. Abby showed her badge to the police officer in front of the tape and made dust dance around her shoes as she headed towards the bridge.

"Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in." She said loudly, getting the attention of the two figures standing guard near the body.

Both persons in question turned around and big smiles were painted on their faces once laying eyes on the young FBI agent. Milo 'Miles' Bronckovic, Abby's best friend, was the first to open his arms and did a little dance.

"Frankie Scott. Back from the dead!"

"Hiya Miles. How's it going?" Abby gladly accepted the warm embrace and for a second, she felt like nothing had changed and she was still with the SCU. The scent of cars and polluted air, dry sand and dust and many mixtures of food combined with the arms of her best friend around her and her colleague next to them, nearly made her feel whole again.

"Going good, going good."

"Frankie." The black haired woman smiled the smile that was only reserved for a few lucky ones. Her big dark eyes took in the features of Abby's face and as she always did, quickly took in Abby's face. Holly 'Lewy' Lewis was what Abby liked to call a 'face reader'. She could tell amazing things just by looking at people's faces.

"Lewy. How's the trouble?"

"Meh, I'm still kicking." The skinny woman retorted and smacked Abby against the shoulder. By now, Morgan had stopped behind the threesome.

"Miles, Lewy, Derek Morgan, my partner. Morgan, Milo Bronckovic and Holly Lewis."

"I'd love to shake, but it seems like you've got your hands full." Lewis said to him, her voice cool and cold as always. Then she turned to Abby and both women started walking towards the body, the men following close behind. "You think you could get me into the BAU? You've got way better looking partners."

"Now, and who would be causing all the trouble here then, eh?"

"Don't worry, you can leave that up to me." Miles jumped in.

"Idiot. He got arrested last weekend." Lewy informed her former colleague, "Figured it was a smart idea to explain the law in his drunken state of mind to a couple of old cops humping their pension. He was lucky though, Mac only gave him gun locker duty for a month."

"What?!" Abby exclaimed. "Mac's getting soft now? He should have done that years ago."

"Believe me, it doesn't suit him." Miles commented. "But those old bastards did retire early." He put on a pair of gloves and Abby followed his lead. Morgan hung back, but kept his eyes and ears open and silently observed the interaction.

"Okay, so what have you got for me mate?" Abby said as she squatted down next to the body. Miles did the same on the other side of the painfully white blanket.

"Ike Charles-Washington. Twenty-four. stabbed in the neck. You can still see some pieces of glass. PD found the rest of it a few feet further. He bled out."

"He still had all his possessions, watch, wallet, credit card; he even had 50 bucks cash. It's safe to say this clearly wasn't a robbery." Lewis reported.

"Fingerprints on the murder weapon?" Abby asked.

"Belong to our John Doe, the same one whom killed those other three." Miles replied, barely even looking up.

"You got a time of death yet?" God. She missed this.

"Body was still warm when a patrol unit came by. Last couple of months there have been some complaints about teens and drugs. It must have happened between six and six-thirty." Miles told her in his usual hoarse, slightly high pitched voice.

"You talked to Dirty Maria yet?" Abby asked, referring to the hooker they all knew. "It is her turf."

"We haven't been able to hook up with her. So to speak." Lewy answered.

"Dirty Maria?" Morgan repeated, glaring from one person to the other.

"Local hooker, bit atop of the food chain. Says she knows everything that happens here." Abby said as she studied the wound in Charles-Washington's neck closer. She checked his fingernails and took a good look at his clothes.

"She usually does know everything." Lewy commented.

Abby ignored her and looked at Miles. "Any idea why he was here?"

"Not yet. We got a priority call, this is actually our lunch."

"Bon appetite." She replied whilst waving away a couple of flies.

The coroner showed up again, after lingering around his van. Abby reckoned Lewy must have chased him away. She never did get along with coroners. He pressed the matter that the body should be transported to the morgue in order to preserve all the evidence. Lewy stepped forward to send him away again, but Abby intervened.

"No, that's okay. You can take him now."

"You got anything else beside the body?" Morgan asked the two SCU agents.

"No, not yet. Like we said, we got the call, reckoned it was the same guy again. Cuba compared fingerprints and confirmed what we thought. We were about to start investigating when we got a call from Wills to drop everything. We barely even processed the scene. Science guys did though. They'll send it all to you." Miles said to him and he took his gloves off.

"Why did you get the call?" Morgan continued.

"Sorry?"

"You said the body was discovered this morning around six. We got the call in Quantico around eight. Why were you brought in? Looks to me like a simple homicide." He elaborated.

Abby and Miles looked at each other for a short period of time. Lewis pretended not to hear anything.

"His dad is a colonel in the army. Big guy. Did a lot of things during the war." Miles carefully replied.

"You guys don't strike me as the political crap types."

"We know him." Abby suddenly said.

"The victim?"

"No. His father. We served with him."

"Politics." Lewy mumbled as her phone rang. She looked at the display before picking up. "On our way."

Miles nodded and winked at Abby. The three of them knew exactly who that was; big boss Angie Wills.

"Let us know if you need anything." Miles shouted over his shoulder as he and Lewy walked towards their car.

"Thanks!" Abby called back at him. Then she turned back to the scene, standing next to Morgan. "What do you think?"

"I think you have some dodgy friends."

Her head snapped to meet his. "Dodgy friends?" She repeated. "I meant about the scene, genius."

"Still, you have dodgy friends. Lewis, is it?" Abby nodded. "How much time did she serve?"

"Eighteen months in juvi."

"For what?"

"Aggravated assault and breaking and entering."

Morgan stared at her. Abby could only shrug. "Teenagers and boyfriends.."

* * *

_"Wise men profit more from fools than fools from wise men; for the wise men shun the mistakes of fools, but fools do not imitate the successes of the wise."_

Cato the Elder


	3. The chaos of memories

"_Every passion borders on the chaotic, but the collector's passion borders on the chaos of memories."_

Walter Benjamin

* * *

December.

Monday.

Same day.

14.59

This was the place where she had become who she was today. Where she had learnt, fallen and gotten back on the horse. This was where she had met her favourite mentor, the man that had acted as a father figure. This was the place where she had chased comfort after her friends were killed. Where she had sought for solace and peace and only found so little. This place, this had been her home for nearly four years and now she was wearing the wrong badge in her own home. No longer it read 'Special Crimes Unit'. Instead, it said 'Behavioural Analysis Unit'. Instead of walking around in her favourite 'SCU kicks ass' t-shirt, she now wore a fancy black jacket with an anti-flash white blouse and faint black stripes on black jeans, all in order to look professional enough. This whole situation, from the badge to the clothes and from new faces to her current colleagues; it all felt worlds apart. She was an Eskimo diving head first into the desert.

It felt strange - walking up to the large and imposing glass doors, spotting the security ward right behind it. As she looked up and remembered every detail about this place, she felt like she was visiting. She was, in fact, visiting, but she had never felt like that whenever approaching this church. It felt wrong and made her skin ache. For a second, she questioned handling this case. For a brief moment, she wondered if she made the right choice by coming here, thinking it would do more harm than good; mostly to herself. The SCU headquarters, as practically everybody called it, used to be an old, small key factory. When it became clear the SCU would be moving in, it had been completely renovated to make it as modern and accessible as possible. The unit owned the latest technology and was frequently consulted by other FBI departments.

Due to the rotting floor the second half of the building had to be re-built on top of new foundations. They placed the grey wooden floor atop of the new floorings and the space they needed at the bottom, was added on the top. The first structure, a tall, static building complex that would create the impression of being an apartment building, had the constructors not chosen for a dark grey chalk stone to act as guarding shields. Electronic glass doors gave people walking by the ability to glance inside and see the security ward. Not only did the lower level function as entrance and check-in, security had also been placed there. Visitor's badges were created, luggage was checked by x-ray eyes, security cameras were monitored during the day, all the systems were regularly checked and always protected. Once you finally made it through the security check up and past the scanners, you'd be greeted by an imposing hall with room on both sides - more than enough room to eat the food you bought from the cafeteria, study your case or read up on your literature.

The rounded arches that supported the ceiling were decorated with old flora patterns. The deep dark brown wood that separated different sections of chalk stone (painted old lime green), with the rounded bows and the flat ceiling, made it look royal, lofty and dignified. You would walk up to a wide, six-step flight of stairs after you passed the small cafeteria where everybody bought their lunch if they couldn't make it to Elliott's street. The hall itself was a wider than the original first part of the entire building, which made it look like an old school or monastery from the outside. Abby and Miles had done some research and in 1919 the roof of the building collapsed. Before that there was no record if the building, nor could they find any pictures. The possibility that this edifice once had a rounded roof was still possible and that would give it a life before they turned it into a key factory.

On the second floor you'd find the administration area and on the third floor was an additional computer lab located – it was frequently used by the interns and trainees of the SCU. In the basement you'd find a maze of boxes, large bookcases filled from head to toe with books and heavy, impressive file cabinets. Abby liked coming to the storage unit, she liked the thick smell of memories and moisture (though air condition are controlled and monitored in every room to avoid damage to files, computers and books) in such dark and confined spaces. Somehow, she always figured she would meet bits and pieces of history.

Once you'd made it up the stairs, you'd walk through large, glass doors fitted precisely into a large glass wall. The black letters above the door spoke of majority, power and superiority.

F.B.I.

Special Crimes Unit.

Headquarters.

Every time Abby walked underneath those words she felt proud, before she would be welcomed by a tall wall with familiar faces contained in silver-like frames, where chills would run up and down her bones. On the centre of the wall hung a large picture of a smiling man; he had a moustache that had turned grey, yet his neatly combed hair still held a few strokes of black. His eyes, blue-green, looked open and friendly, but those that knew him, still remembered his stark stare. The cool looks he could give them, the disapproval or the anger.

Trevor Harrison was not a man of words. He was a man of expressions. When Abby came, she wasn't able yet to read between the (un)spoken lines like she could now. She was a natural, a feeler. That's probably why she got along so well with her former mentor; because she could feel it, and understood. Harrison called her gut instinct a talent, a gift. That gift had sent him right into a trap that took his life, along with two other members.

The two members in question, Gina 'Angel' Angeholis and Ben 'Laker' Ooster, each had their picture on either side of Harrison. There were seven more pictures, all SCU agents that had died since the founding of the unit, back in 2000. Abby didn't know all faces, but she knew too many. Once past the hall of fame, the famous 'morning coffee table' was placed in the middle of the large and impressive room, and stole your attention. But once you truly stepped into the second part of the SCU complex, you'd be amazed by the size of it, despite it 'only' being 1500 square feet. The secondary part only held two floors, the top floor being more of offices and a balcony railing. Team three and four actually had their own room on the second floor. There was however, one overlapping room, though it wasn't accessible from the first floor: the team one primary room, or also called the conference room, but most affectionally they referred to it as 'the glass room'.

Directly on your right after entering the loft, you'd find Abby's old office. In the left corner, next to the primary room, was team one's locker room and one level below the gun locker. On the other side of the primary were team two and three's lockers. Across from those lockers, and right opposite of the team two conference room, was team one's secondary room, which was in fact only one office away from Abby's old place. In the large, wide open space between both sides of the old factory, rows of desks and small bullpens gathered like an AA meeting. The bullpens were where they were originally put, but because there weren't enough desks for every person on the payroll, it was quite common desks were pushed around the room.

The glass room was something unique and impressive. All the latest technology was brought together in that room. An enormous, thin flat screen was hung upon the wall and was connected to one of the fastest computers in the country. It could be used through (wireless) keyboards, but also by voice commands and a touch screen. They had the best optic images, the bests of sound, being able to filter through different layers or reconstruct sound or images. The possibilities were almost endless. And especially with the cases SCU worked on, it made it all a whole lot easier as they were able to process much more information at the same time and pull up more than one case on the big screen. This way, and in that size, it was easier to compare and/or look for flaws.

But that was not all, the computer was hooked into many different systems and layers and Miles had programmed it that when you said the command 'Speed dial 1' it would automatically call Papa John's pizza place around the corner and order their favourite pizzas. No, the true magic of the glass room was the SPD Smart Glass windows. By pressing on a switch or giving the command, electric pulses were sent to the suspended particle devices and made the glass turn matte. This way, at any point anything could be seen, and then the next moment the members were mere shadows. This was the place where the famous team one gathered to catch the most notorious, most evil monsters that haunted Atlanta.

She tried to stay cool and unfazed, but underneath her skin she felt bitter and hurt. Deeply hurt. She had been chased away from her own home, her place, whilst she had promised herself they never would. She had taken an oath to protect the place she loved dearly, and this place she loved dearly. For the first time in her life, she felt it was unfair. Abby always had been realistic and things happened because they happened and it was probably necessary to have certain things overcome you; good or bad. It took her some time, but eventually she looked at the change of scenery just like that.

She had learnt more with the BAU in the past seven months than she did a whole year with the SCU. And that wasn't because the SCU wasn't good enough or the BAU better, no, but because of the fact that she had carried a large, heavy role, a certain sort of leadership with the SCU. Especially after Harrison was killed. With the BAU, she was back to being a team member, there was less responsibility and they were all equal. SCU have and would always deny it, but everybody played their part and had a certain role attached to the name tag they wore every morning. Miles was the tech guy. Cuba the creative one. Wills had good leadership. Lewy was the hard guns. However, being back home like this, it stabbed her deep in the heart and she wondered if she would ever look at her old team and this place like she used to. The betrayal Abby had buried in some dark box inside her chest to overcome her anger, was entering her bloodstream like a poisonous drug. She would have to do something about that before she would do anything stupid.

Abby and Morgan walked past the coffee table and they were greeted by the typical sound of the SCU. A soft static rush of chatter and soft beeps. But that sound was nearly overwhelmed by the silent echo that could deafen your ears if you listened too closely. That's what Abby loved the most about this place; not the extraordinary view you had when it got dark, but the many memories contained in this church-like space. She glanced at Morgan and she noted him looking around, his expression blank, but she knew what he was thinking.

"Impressive, eh?"

"I think it's a bit of the top." He replied coolly.

Abby snorted. "Ya, right."

"What the hell is that?" Morgan pointed at the glass room.

"That's a secret." She received a glare from her colleague and they headed towards the secondary team one room, where Hotch and JJ had set up their case.

Before entering the room, as she kept the door open for Morgan, Abby watched her old team in the glass room. They were obviously discussing something, and it didn't seem to go lightly. Miles was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. In front of him sat Cuba, right across from Lewy and Wills. David McCallister stood at the head of the table and seemed to try to calm things down. Another great benefit from the primary room; it was sound proof. Mac was clearly doing a good job because annoyed miens grew on their faces and they stopped talking. Wills grabbed a case file and opened it. Mac sat down, Miles grabbed himself some more coffee and Abby could see Wills grab the small remote. Before the glass turned rough, her best friend saw her standing there and their eyes locked. Something was going on in that room and it wasn't just a simple case, Abby knew for sure. She shrugged the thoughts away and entered the room, focused back on the case because this was where she was needed, this was her job now, this deserved her attention.

"O M G, Frankie, I love this place." Garcia immediately exclaimed once she entered. Abby smiled, shortly raised her eyebrows at Morgan whom was looking at both girls with a frown. "This is like heaven, only, we're not dead so that would make this like a paradise for living, breathing, tech-lovers."

"It is grand, isn't it?" Abby replied grinning.

"Seriously." Garcia placed her hand on Abby's arm and leant in closer. "This is like a friggin' techgasm."

Abby made the decision not to reply to that and was saved when Hotch asked for their attention.

"What have you got from the crime scene?" Hotch immediately asked as Garcia quickly went over to her chair. Abby closed the door behind her and instantly went for the coffee. She let Morgan do the talking and spotted Garcia now partially hidden behind two computer screens in the corner.

"Victim is the son of an army colonel. Though I doubt he followed his father's footsteps, he was short build and not very muscular. He could have easily been overpowered. The place was isolated, good cover by the trees, but apparently teenagers hang out there a lot. They might have seen something. It also seemed like a popular place for homeless people. Forensics found shoe prints in the mud, running away from the body. Size 11 boots. The road that runs underneath the viaduct is practically deserted at night. Vic still had cash on him, nothing was taken. Lewis and Bronckovic said a local hooker by the name of Dirty Maria might help. She owns the turf."

"Garcia." Hotch said, but didn't need to finish his sentence.

"On it."

"What strikes me is the location." Reid started. "At that time, kids probably already went home and the only people you'd find there are homeless people."

"Why was Charles-Washington there?" Prentiss thought out loud.

"Exactly. But also, why was our UnSub there?"

"He could be homeless." Rossi suggested, but his face didn't completely agree with his thoughts.

"Or he was drunk and found a place to sleep. There are several bars nearby." JJ had been looking at the map and the versicoloured circles and thumbtacks Reid had put up.

"Rossi, what'd you get from the previous scenes?" Their fearless leader asked.

Rossi however, was before he could speak, interrupted. There was a soft knock on the door and a young, fresh face stuck her head around the door. "Excuse me, agent Jareau? These are the files you requested and some new information from forensics." The girl said politely.

"Oh, thank you." JJ walked up to the girl and took the stack of files. But instead of leaving, the girl lingered and looked at Abby.

"Can we help you?" Hotch asked, perhaps a bit rude, but that only shimmered through faintly.

"Oh, sorry, no. It's just-.. You're Frankie Scott, right?"

Abby raised her eyebrows from over the edge of her coffee cup as she brought the mug to her lips. "Ya."

"I wrote my final paper on the Christian Killer, just like you. I was wondering if you would like to read it. I mean, you inspired me but I added a few ideas of my own. I studied Criminology at Penn? In Pennsylvania." She was stuttering as she tried to get the words out too fast. Abby reckoned she looked actually kind of cute the way she flapped her hands around. Still, reading papers of aspiring green-as-grass kids wasn't really on top of her to-do list.

"Sure." She said, her voice growing dull.

"Thank you. I'll just-"

"Leave it on the coffee table."

"Okay. Will do. Thank you."

Abby put up her hand for a second and did her best to smile before the girl left again, closing the door behind her.

"Quite a name you've got here, Scott." The oldest agent commented dryly, but there was a small hint of an amused smirk on his face.

"You were saying, Rossi? First crime scene?" Abby replied.

"Jizabelle Montgomery." Rossi said it as if that name should mean anything to him. "Murdered in an abandoned alley behind a restaurant on her way home from work. She was killed with an empty bottle of wine, presumably found in one of the dumpsters. She was alive when the UnSub left her, coroner report says that she was alive for at least two minutes before dying of blood loss. There were no bloody footprints, which means the UnSub immediately ran after he stabbed her. He didn't linger to watch."

"It was his first kill, he could have been frightened." Morgan stated.

"Assuming he intended to kill her." Abby said, twirling the last bit of her coffee around in her mug absent-mindedly. "He didn't necessarily have to kill her on purpose. It could have been an accident."

"Which means he wasn't out there to kill, organized or disorganized. He enrolled in that feeling of power." Hotch said.

"So the UnSub probably went through the dumpsters and he made some noise. Montgomery goes to check it out, surprises the UnSub and gets killed. That doesn't add up." Prentiss concluded. She frowned as she stepped towards the whiteboard and looked at the crime scene photos.

"Why was he scared?" Reid questioned.

"What was he looking for in the first place?" Abby added.

"If he was homeless, he could have been looking for food." Morgan suggested and clearly got in the way with himself. His face was tensed and his expression annoyed. Abby smiled at herself when seeing the deity man struggle with his temporary handicap. She lowered her face to hide a smile, 'A_nd he said he could drive.'_

"That is assuming he's homeless." Abby replied before she looked up at Rossi. "Behind what restaurant was Montgomery killed?"

"Georgio's." Prentiss answered in his turn.

She frowned. "Georgio gives away food every day. At the same time, five o'clock, lunch left overs. All the hobo's in the area know that."

"He could have missed it." JJ said whilst she sat down next to Morgan and handed him a cup of coffee.

"Or he was looking for something else." The dark man winked at JJ as he took the cup.

"Or worse: he didn't want to be found." Hotch replied grimly. "Has the place been searched thoroughly?"

"Pretty much." Rossi answered. "Why?"

"Perhaps he was hiding something."

"Like a body?"

"Possibly."

Behind her, Abby noticed the suddenly change of light in the large factory and turned her head to see team one exit the primary room. She bit her lip and then made up her mind. "Hotch, can you give me a second?" She asked, but didn't stick around to hear a reply.

She walked up to Miles, took him away from the group, ignored her old boss' looks and spoke with him for a minute or so. When she returned to the room, Hotch' famous stark death glare was looking her right in the face.

"Don't know what our UnSub was doing in the alley, or under the bridge for that matter, but I do know why Charles-Washington was down there. He was a junkie. Figured he could score there or he had an appointment."

"And you know this how?" Hotch asked her, his voice low and filled with disapproval.

"Well, Ike used to be an addict, that I knew. I just thought he kicked the habit after we sent him to rehab. Plus, the needle marks on his arm were fresh."

"Wait a minute, you know our victim?" Hotch' expression couldn't be explained. It was an unpleasant mixture of anger, frustration, disappointment and… Surprise?

"No. Well, no, not really. I knew his dad. Barely knew his son."

"You knew his dad?" Hotch repeated.

"I served with him."

"And your genius brain couldn't come up with the idea to mention that earlier?" His voice was getting louder and he was really starting to get pissed. Abby's careless attitude and tone of voice didn't help with that either.

She shrugged. "I didn't think it was of that importance, honestly."

"You knew why he was down there and still kept that information to yourself."

"I wasn't sure because I thought he'd gotten himself cleaned up."

"Because you sent him to rehab."

"I promised his dad to look after him."

"So you do have a personal relationship with the victim's father."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Abby noticed she had raised her voice as well. This was payback for snapping at him at the airfield, she shouldn't snap at her superiors. She realised too late she was in an official argument with her boss and the rest of the team was present. None spoke nor sought eye contact with anyone. They just sat there and listened. Tension was running high and Abby felt herself losing control. Not even Derek Morgan had managed to crawl under her skin like that, that rapidly; it was as if she got hit by a car.

"Everything! That means you're personally involved in this case. That means that you'll most likely will want to solve this case no matter what, at any costs and no matter the consequences. You know his father."

"I doubt that has got to do something with anything."

"And why's that?"

"Because he's dead. His father, is dead! Blew his brains out two days before heading back to the war, _years_ ago!" Abby snapped, again, at her supervisor. She was panting slightly, her hands were itching and she loved to be alone with her punching bag right now. After uttering the words she broke her eye contact with Hotch and didn't look at any of them. Instead, she placed a hand on her hip and with the other she pushed back the lock of hair that had gotten loose.

Hotch continued to stare at her and Abby figured he was hoping she'd at least try to make amends, try to apologize. She pressed her jaws together and slightly pursed her lips.

"Uhm, guys?" Garcia tried carefully. "Your hooker, Dirty Maria, was picked up last week. She's serving time for possession and violating her parole."

"Thanks Garcia." JJ said softly.

"What did you find from the second scene?" He asked Prentiss, but his eyes never left Abby's figure, and he kept on trying to burn holes in her head.

"Alexander Brooks was killed exiting the subway station on Pryor street. Blunt force trauma to the back of the head, probably a rock or stone. Lots of open space, he risked being seen. It was quick but sloppy." Prentiss summed up.

"So he's clearly not thinking about such factors. It's all circumstantial and situational. Moment of anger." Hotch commented. He finally stopped staring at Abby, who still stood huddled away in a corner, avoiding eye contact.

"Forensics found sand that matched the sand in the environment so it's highly likely the UnSub found the rock at the scene. He was on the phone with his business associate, but she didn't hear a thing except Brooks' grunt and running footsteps." JJ said as she skimmed through the files she had gotten from the young girl.

"What about the video images?" The tech analyst asked.

All agents (except for Abby) looked up at the young woman. "What video images?" JJ questioned surprised and shocked.

Reid flashed his eyes towards Abby, but she kept quiet.

"It's a subway station. As part of the prevention of crime and to fight crime back in 1980, they installed security cameras in all sorts of public places. Seeing Atlanta is transportation hub, every bus station, metro station and subway station is provided with cameras." Garcia quickly explained.

"There's no record of any kind of footage apprehended." Prentiss read the file log over JJ's shoulder with her.

"That's odd. Scott, talk to your old team mates, perhaps it's been misplaced." Hotch told her. "Rossi, Prentiss, go to the third crime scene, see if you can find out anything else. Reid and I will start on a preliminary profile. JJ, can you contact Brooks' business associate? I'd like to talk to her. Scott, you visit the coroner's office. I want Charles-Washington's autopsy report."

"On it." JJ replied.

"What about me?" Morgan asked as he looked up to his boss.

"Get some rest, you look like hell."

Before anyone could do anything but let out a chuckle, there was a knock on the room. A tall, broad shouldered man with short dark hair entered the room, his phone in his left hand. His face looked kind and friendly, a strong jaw and good proportioned nose, but he had a sharp chin and his brown eyes could cut diamonds.

"Morning." He said as JJ stood up and walked over to him.

And it was then and there that she knew. She could never do this. She couldn't pretend not to miss this place, not to feel like she had been ripped from her home. And it all hurt. Everything hurt. December hurt, her old team hurt, her old boss hurt, Harrison still hurt, the betrayal hurt, the BAU hurt, she hurt herself and even David McCallister's soft and smooth voice, the man that she had yelled at and he at her countless of times, even that hurt.

Because she knew she would never get those things back. They were gone. Missing. Dissipated. She, herself, was gone.

JJ extended her hand and shook McCallister's. "Hi, agent Jareau, we spoke on the phone."

"Ah, yes. David McCallister." McCallister also shook Hotch' hand as he stepped forward. "Agent Hotchner, it's been a while."

"It certainly has been. How's the wife?"

"Oh! Divorced. How have you been?"

"Good, good. This is the rest of the team-"

"Ah. The famous BAU primary team." He smiled as he looked around when Hotch went around the room and introduce the rest of the team. When he reached Abby, he halted. McCallister interlaced his eyes with her and she could tell that he knew. He could read it off her face. That's why they collided so often; they were alike yet they could read each other, too well. But, neither of them would speak of it. Never.

"And.. Of course, you know Abby." Hotch ended the introductions, his voice slightly wailing, his eyes still strong and fierce when Abby dared to briefly look at him.

"Frankie Scott." He and Abby approached each other and shook hands. He didn't let go though, not until he closely observed her. "I see you're still kicking up the dirt."

When her old section chief let go, Abby gave him a weak, two-finger salute. "You know me, Mac."

"I do. How've you been?"

"Good. You?"

"Busy."

Abby smiled and with that, the conversation ended. McCallister turned back to the rest of the room. "I just want to thank you for coming over so quickly. We really appreciate it. We're uh.. Really tied up at the moment."

"Must be a hell of a case you're working if you pulled your first two teams." Rossi commented.

"Yeah. Not a pretty one, either, unfortunately." McCallister's phone rang. "Uhm, listen guys, if you need anything, just ask me or… Anyone else if I'm not around. We'll worry about paperwork later. I have to take this call, but if you need me, don't hesitate, just shout. Frankie used to do that all the time. Works like a charm."

"Thanks."

Prentiss chuckled and she and Rossi left the room shortly after McCallister exited. Reid sent Morgan an apologetic smile before turning to his case files and his gorgeous mind. Abby didn't want to spend another second in the small and oppressive room and fled as soon as the door opened to find anyone of her previous team.

She reckoned Hotch had sent her to talk to her old team because she was a lie detection expert, with her many thanks to doctor Cal Lightman. She forced the idea that he picked her because she knew them and hoped that they wouldn't lie to her, far away deep inside her brain. Abby could read it on their faces. She could see it once they observed the SCU HQ, how they reacted to Mac and Wills, how Morgan had reacted after meeting Miles and Lewy. They disapproved. As Morgan had said it himself; it was over the top. Partially, he was right. Team one was arrogant, cocky and pretentious. Then again, they all figured they had earned it. Besides, if they wouldn't walk around like they owned the streets, someone would have stepped up years ago to reclaim those very streets again.

However, Abby knew what it was like working with the SCU. Wills was tight and strict, but Harrison ran it differently. And they had all been trained by him. It was hard to play by kind manners instead of getting what you needed. There was some rule-breaking and bending, nothing too serious, but something other departments, especially departments like the BAU where they relied on science and handled far greater cases, would definitely disapprove of it. SCU had the ability to risk it. BAU and such like departments, didn't. It's what had gotten Abby in trouble in the first place when she just joined the BAU. In Atlanta, with the SCU, it was like the jungle. Either you eat or you get eaten. Either you're the lion or the prey; you can't be both.

* * *

"_With some people solitariness is an escape not from others but from themselves. For they see in the eyes of others only a reflection of themselves._"

Eric Hoffer


	4. The heart of man

"_Teach me to feel another's woe, to hide the fault I see, that mercy I to others show, that mercy show to me."_

Alexander Pope

* * *

December.

Monday.

Same day.

15.20

It was hard to imagine that she was still living in the same day. So many things had happened, so many emotions had rollercoastered through her head. Her mind had taken her back and forth and sideward again - she felt like friggin' Happy Feet. Abby could barely even remember how and when she got up. She nearly forgot her early morning walk in the dew of sunset, surrounded by bold, leafless trees and Bird the German shepherd running around her, chasing twigs. Abby couldn't even remember the euphoric state she was in once she had learnt that they were going to Atlanta. Perhaps, somehow, she had thought everything would go back to normal. Wills would realise what a great asset to the team she had lost and when seeing her doing such a good job, she would want Abby back. But, like so many things in her life, it all was an illusion. And she felt like choking because this was not supposed to be like this. She had been dumped like garbage, tossed away to be used again, abandoned and neglected by her friends – or at least people she thought were her friends. Slowly, Abby was starting to realise that there were things going on, bigger things, things that included her in some sort of way, and she had been pushed and left out.

That traitory hit her harder than she figured she would ever let her. And she hated herself for that.

Then came the next problem. She needed someone to talk to. Someone who would understand what she was saying without actually having to say the words and spare herself the embarrassment and shame. Someone she could say to 'I feel like a pirate' and that other person would understand that she felt like her own crew just threw her overboard. Her complicated relationship with Derek Morgan – the complicated relationship with Derek Morgan which they broke off – enabled her from going to see him. It would have been difficult, hard and perhaps even slightly morbid and he wouldn't understand a word of the babbles she would utter, but she knew Morgan would let her ramble in her own unique language and pick up some words he thought he knew the meaning of. Reid wouldn't understand. As much as she loved him and wished for him to actually do understand, he wouldn't. He barely even understood normal English, let alone Abby's secret code words. Hotch, especially after their little fiasco, was a risk she wasn't willing to take. He was her boss and despite the fact that she felt like confiding in him, she feared being sent to a shrink, to be forced to take a leave of absence or losing her job. The last person she could turn to was the first person she wanted to talk to.

But he had been the captain's right hand and threw her into the deep. Miles had been her best friend for years, but his betrayal hurt her more than anything ever did. And she couldn't understand why he would turn against her, why he would be included in the pact that they had formed against Abby. She was too proud and too stubborn to ask him, and deep down she knew she was afraid too. So that left her with her only option: herself. She wasn't reliable. She feared she would talk, especially in an intoxicated state. Or when she talked to herself too many times and her head would explode with all the words and random conversations.

Milo 'Miles' Bronckovic stood outside smoking a cigarette with Holly 'Lewy' Lewis and the two of them looked comfortable. They laughed, they smiled, they talked as Abby observed them for a few minutes. Yet she noticed the silences in-between. How they both looked around, scanning their surroundings. Something was definitely off. And Abby wasn't sure if it was her place to question him about it. But, there was something else she needed to talk to him about, hence she stepped outside, lit a smoke and approached the young couple.

"Frankie! Good to see those suits haven't turned you completely around" Miles joked regarding the fact that she still smoked.

"Are you kidding me? I'll die protecting my last cigarette." Abby replied with a small smile on her face. _Lies, lies, pretty little lies. Paint a picture on your face and pretend to be Mona Lisa, Frankie-dear._

"So, what's it like working with such top of the job wiseasses?" Lewy asked.

"Actually, it's pretty cool. Different though, they actually are officers of the law and obey that law, but it's really quite an experience."

"Wow. Sounds to me like you've been brain washed." Miles laughed at his own joke. He always did that.

"No, no, that's not it. It's just, those people know a lot of things. And, statistically, I did move up the ladder." Abby looked at Miles with her head crooked to the right. "I'm catching bigger criminals now."

"Oh! Oh, you're mean Frankie."

"Frankie!" The sing-song voice of Ricardo 'Cuba' Pinõ was one out of a thousand. You could still hear a faint accent, but the singing like tone of voice was something he never got rid of. Abby thanked him silently for that, because she always loved that about him.

"Cuba!" Abby spun around and opened her arms. Cuba jogged towards her and lifted her up for a spin in the air. "How've you been love? Still smoking the cigars?"

"Of course, of course little Frankie, what else did you expect. Not suddenly going to stop doing my thing because I'm heartbroken you left me." Cuba said to her with his right arm still wrapped around her shoulders.

She couldn't resist. She had tried biting of her tongue, but she failed. "Oh really? That's not what I heard."

"What do you mean? Haven't you seen all those ladies, happy because they met me?"

"No, that's not what I mean." She didn't need to add any more words. Cuba's smile faltered and the warm, protective, brotherly arm around her torso disappeared. Lewy crawled behind her skin of ice and Miles avoided eye contact.

"So you heard." Cuba said softly.

"Ya. I heard. What did you expect? You always said I had big ears."

"I know, I know Frankie. It's just.. I'd rather that you didn't hear it."

"So you prefer me sitting around late at night wondering what the hell I had done that I was transferred to the BAU?! You rather have me going over and over the scenarios and constantly coming back to that one mistake?! Some friends you are." Abby spat at them. Cuba was wise enough not to interrupt her. "You know what? Forget it. Screw you all. If you rather play Godfather with Wills, be my guest, bake a cake and go fuck yourselves. But don't you dare to ever come knocking on my door. Any of you! Alexander Brooks, the second victim of this crazy spree killer you have running around, he was murdered near the subway station. There has to be some kind of footage of, useful or not. Where is it?"

Abby automatically looked at Miles, seeing he was the computer technician.

"Wills has it."

"Why?"

He looked up and his eyes were pleading. As much as she wanted to push him and force him to tell her 'I can't say' or 'I can't tell you', she couldn't do it. She had never loved someone as much as she loved Miles. Abby knew that if she didn't ask, Miles would know he hadn't completely screwed up. There was still a shot on redemption and she knew he would take that shot with both hands and feet. Hence she dropped her fag on the ground, stomped on it and spun around on her heels heading back inside after saying "Nice talking to ya, enjoy the rest of your fuckin' lives."

* * *

December.

Monday.

Same day.

18.20

This was not a good day, Abby concluded as she marched back into the headquarters. Bill the Headman, as she liked to call the head of security, knew Abby since her first day with the SCU and let her race passed him without asking questions or scanning her. Once back inside, she realised she had another problem and that problem resolved itself in the form of one tall, handsome but tiresome, indomitable leader. She felt dirty with all the lies she was carrying, pulling her down into a deep pit. She needed to come clean. If only a little bit.

Hotch was leaning with both hands on the table, hovering over a case file filled with reports. On her way to team one's secondary room, she snatched the paper the girl, Melissa Young she discovered, had left for her. Abby thought of announcing herself by tabbing on the partially wooden door, but changed her mind and walked into the room, closing the door behind her. She threw the paper on the table, tucked her hands in her pockets and stared outside the window with her back facing Hotch.

"I lied." She heard Hotch lifting himself back up but he didn't speak and Abby took it as an invitation to continue talking. "I knew there was something why I had to leave the SCU. I just didn't know that it was my own bloody team that started the clockwork."

"I'm sorry, Scott. I really am." Hotch commented. He tried not to sound dry or inattentive, but he wasn't completely focused on her either.

"But they didn't transfer me to the BAU." Abby sighed as she rubbed her face with both her hands. Then she turned around and crossed her arms before her chest as she approached the table. "They wanted to send me to a violent crimes division in New York. I declined politely. Mac made some calls and he tried to fulfil the last and only wish I had of him as a section chief handling my transfer."

"You wanted to go somewhere else?" Hotch asked kindly, looking up at her, centre of attention, his voice soft and full of sympathy. Abby found it rather misplaced, seeing the confession she just made and the fight they just had.

"There's something you should know about Mac. If he wants something or something done, he gets it done."

"You asked for the transfer to the BAU?" Hotch sounded surprised.

"What?" She looked up at him. "You guys are the best out there. With my background and abilities, that's not such a bad idea if I may say so myself."

Hotch gave her a half crocket smile.

"Just – don't tell anybody. I didn't even tell my so called friends. Well, I told Miles, but Miles is-… A different story."

"I am truly sorry, Abby."

She nodded. "About earlier, sir, I was totally out of line. You were right. I should have told you."

"Then why didn't you?" It was the only logical question he could ask her.

"The press is going to find out in no time. I wanted to be sure before destroying whatever there was left of their reputation."

"Come to me next time. We'll keep it quiet until we know for sure."

Abby nodded and smiled at herself. "If that means I'll avoid pissing you off I'll definitely do that."

"Good."

Abby turned around again, once again pocketing her hands and she returned to watch the SCU headquarter from behind the glass. "It's strange, you know. To be back here and not belong to this team that was my family once." She hesitatingly told Hotch.

"No one will think of you any less if you stepped away from this case, Abby."

"I know."

"Do you? Really?" He asked, his eyes fierce and penetrating.

"They kicked me of the team, Hotch. And none of them will tell me why. It's like they formed some sort of secret pact or society against me."

"And now you want to prove to them that they can't get to you."

"Meh." Abby replied. "I don't know."

"You don't have to prove yourself, Abby, not to anyone, not to us. You're a good agent."

"But?" She asked.

"But nothing." He said back as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

"Oh come on Hotch. I've known you long enough to know you've got something on that twisted mind of yours."

"I'm worried about you." He answered plainly.

Abby studied his face. He was telling the truth. "Worried? Why?"

"You snap in and out of it. You're often mentally not really here. You're tensed, agitated, more than usual anyway. And quite frankly you wear this painful expression all the time like something's bothering you."

"Does the fact that you profiled me mean that I get to profile you?"

"No."

"I'm fine, Chief."

Hotch looked at her, almost if he could force the truth out of her with just his mien. "Abby. We made a deal." He reminded her of the pact they had made. He would stay off her back as much as he could, but she would talk to him as soon as something would trouble her.

"Hotch. I'm fine. Honestly. It's just-…. It's the time of the year." She smiled weakly in order to enforce her words. Abby could tell he didn't completely buy her, but it was enough for him to let it slide – for now. By now, she had turned back towards him. "Oh, I talked to Miles. He says Wills has the tapes. I figured it would probably wise to let you handle that." She said smirking.

Hotch looked at her.

"Hey, I'm learning."

This comment caused another small smile to appear on Hotch' stark face. "I'll handle it. Good job. Morgan and Garcia are getting some coffee. Why don't you get some too and then help him on the preliminary profile. JJ, Reid and I will visit local spots where homeless people hang out, visit some shelters to find out if anyone saw something. Rossi called, the third victim, Sally Burke, was killed next to an abandoned building. Kids around say that the building is filled with squatters and homeless people at night."

"Will do, sir. Oh, and while you're at it. Try if you can find a man called Padre and his Wild Bunch, a large group of elder homeless men that own their own corner. They often helped me out in my investigations. He's a bit reserved towards the police, but you might get something out of him. Mention my name and if he asks for the password, it's 'emerald dream cookies'."

"'Emerald dream cookies'?" Hotch repeated with risen brows.

"Please. Don't ask." She held up her hand and closed her eyes.

"Okay. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Abby stared at her feet and played with a scratch in the floor. "I talked to the coroner. Washington was high on heroine."

Hotch looked up at her. "So he had already scored."

"What was he doing down there?" She questioned before he could. "He could have stumbled down, fell under the bridge. He could have fallen asleep there."

"Our UnSub could be his dealer, suffering from a psychotic break due to drug use. He followed him or they were already together, getting high."

"Coroner says Washington was killed because of a stab wound to the neck. Skewered the right common carotid artery and the right subclavian artery. He bled out." Abby summed up.

There was a short silence.

"We're missing something." She stated.

"Motive." Hotch said to her. "One little piece of the puzzle. Once we have that, everything falls into each other."

Abby nodded. The clockwork had started, the night train was warming up. Soon, she would feel the suffocating smoke around her nose, smell the combination of rust and metal, hear the hissing of the wheels. It had been too long since she went for a ride.

The weight of the world was lifted of her shoulders and she had to resist the strong urge to start dancing. Everything was going to be alright again. She smiled again as she grabbed the paper of the table and opened the door to leave.

"Oh, Scott."

They were back to last names again.

"Ya?"

"You never mentioned that you were involved in the Christian Killer case." Hotch told her, his mind clearly scanning her reaction.

"I wasn't. I wrote an essay about the case for my masters."

"Why him?" Hotch wanted to know.

"I don't know. Why the Boston Reaper?"

"I was actively involved in that investigation."

Abby shrugged. "Profile says that we share the same hometown. I felt sort of, in a probably rather perverted way, connected."

Hotch nodded as a sign that she could go, which she did. She found Morgan and Garcia in the coffee shop, avidly debating whether they should go for the turkey or the chicken sandwich. Abby walked up to them and leant forward to whisper. "I could show you a place where they serve real food."

Morgan was startled to find her so close and talking softly into his ear, but he chuckled and turned around. "No, really?"

"Really. Come on."

Garcia and he shared a short look, but then followed the cocky agent outside.

During a nice, good lunch at Elliott's street deli and pub, in which Morgan sent her suspicious glances, Garcia kept asking questions, Abby and her colleagues discussed the case and started working on the preliminary profile. In-between there was some room to deviate and Morgan hesitantly asked about Atlanta. Wearily, Abby replied and turned the subject around, before going back to the profile. It was like a dance. They were dancing. An odd and perhaps even scary dance, but they did it nonetheless and Abby felt like it worked. It made _them_ work. She would do whatever it took to make _them_ work.

After two hours, Abby paid half the bill, the other half had been mysteriously lost. Abby waved goodbye to the owner, Peter Elliott, and his wife, the waitress that had served the two agents. So far, they had zip on their UnSub and the preliminary profile Abby and Morgan had worked on, was starting to look more and more like a five year old's scribble pages. They barely had any leads. They needed to stick their heads together. Once back at the SCU Headquarters, SCU team one had assembled in the conference room again and shadows moved around behind the foggy-like glass. Without paying much more attention, Abby held the door open and entered after the two agents.

All of their team members had returned from their little field trips and new information was put on the boards in chronological order. Reid, of course, stood in front of one of the boards with a marker in his hands. JJ stood in the corner talking to someone on the phone.

"Anything new?" Morgan asked as he sat down.

"Not much. A couple of squatters said they saw someone wander around the building Sally Burke was killed next to. But either they were already on their way to drunk or couldn't remember much. One did say that he saw two persons fighting over a blanket or something." Rossi replied.

"You managed to get a hold on this Padre and his Wild Bunch?" Hotch asked in return.

Prentiss shook her head. "They didn't want to talk to us."

"Scott, looks like we're going to need your local expertise." Hotch said as he looked at her.

Abby only nodded, her eyes carefully scanning the faces of her colleagues.

"I couldn't find anything." Garcia suddenly commented when she sat down behind her computers.

"Find what?" Morgan looked up, perhaps surprised that something had been directed towards Garcia and he wasn't the one doing it.

"The security tape of the subway station. There's no record of it. No record of any security tape of that night at that station, frankly." She replied.

"That doesn't sound good to me." Rossi said carefully as he glanced at Abby. She looked down and felt her hands form fists in the pockets of her trouser.

"You know something about that?" Prentiss bluntly asked.

"No. But I have a pretty good idea." Abby said through her teeth, hiding her emotions.

"And that is?" Morgan replied.

"It's something internal. I really rather not throw in into the wild without checking with Wills."

"Like with Charles-Washington you mean?" Prentiss casually commented as she sipped on her coffee. "You know what Prentiss? It's classified so leave it the hell alone." Abby shot back at her.

"Guys. Enough." Hotch sent them both a warning glare that hushed them up.

"No, she's right." Abby sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I should have told you guys about that. But I chose to protect the status of a man I served with, a man I respected. I know I shouldn't have left you guys in the dark, but I did."

"Fair enough." The oldest agent replied dryly. "You think you can talk to your old boss?"

Abby looked at Rossi but then turned to look at Hotch. "For the record, it's probably best if you did it." She said to her boss. When he gave her a small nod, she turned on her heels and exited the room. She could hear Hotch talk to his team. "Alright, let's pack up, head to the motel. We'll look at it tomorrow."

Without knocking, she burst into the conference room. Five heads snapped at her, Wills rose from her chair and Miles quickly wiped the screen blank.

"What the hell do you think you're doing Scott?"

She didn't reply right away; instead she halted at the other side of the large table, directly across from her former boss. "We need to talk. Privately."

With a glare at her team members, Wills ordered her team to exit the room. It was somewhat amazing how much power and authority this woman held over her team. Admiring, rather. That power and authority was born out of respect and you would never hear a member complain. Whilst the team respected Wills, Wills also respected her team.

Or, at least that's what Abby used to think. After everything she had discovered recently, she wasn't quite sure about anything she had built in Atlanta. As Miles, being the last person that left the room, closed the door, Abby gave Wills no chance to speak first.

"I know what you're doing Wills."

"You do." She retorted mockingly, no trace of respect or admiration she used to have for the younger woman.

"Yeah. You're looking for the Christian Killer. You hoped he was on that tape."

"If," Angie Wills paused and stared her down, "if what you say is correct, how would you know that?"

"Because I know things you don't Wills, but I'm sure you already know that since you kicked me off this team. You won't find him, Wills."

"And why's that?" Wills crossed her arms, her deep blue blouse matching perfectly with her pale skin, red lips and strong outlined face.

"Because he won't let you find him."

"You came close."

"Because he wanted me to. It's a game, Wills. And you're not invited into that game."

"Your team is waiting for you."

Abby didn't even glance in their direction. She knew Wills was probably right. The woman had eyes in the back of her head.

"Is that why you kicked me off the team? Because I'm the only one that will catch him and you can't handle that?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Scott. You used to be a lot smarter." Wills spat at her.

"Because I let him get away? Is that it?" Abby asked, trying to control her voice drenched in disbelieve.

"No one knows what happened in that building, Frankie. And honestly, I don't believe your story. Two more women are dead-" Wills abruptly stopped, on her face was clear to see she was startled by herself; by the mistake she made.

"Say it." Abby growled. "Say it, Wills. They're dead, because of me they're dead. Again! It was my fault, again!"

"Abby, don't do this."

"I want that tape."

"He's not on it.

"I - know."

Wills had diverted her gaze, but the tone of Abby's voice, the way she slowly pronounced the words, let a brief interlude fall in-between, made her looked up at her, almost as if in slow motion.

It was eight past eight in the evening and Atlanta was slowly dissecting Abby, slowly tearing her apart. There was too much inside her, she could feel herself slowly breaking down.

Wills was still staring at her.

"He was in a little place called Dumfries, near a nice house on Candice road, watching his favourite person. He was near my house, Wills. You. Won't. Catch. Him. He's too smart for you, he's too smart for everybody. Now, I need that tape so you get me, that tape."

Abby left the person she respected and looked up to for three years gobsmacked as she exited the room. Before heading back towards her team, she collected all her strength and pride and put on one of her favourite faces. The team was packing up, ready to head towards their motel and get ready for another day. She told them the tape would be there the next day and announced she would walk home. She couldn't care less about what they would think. She couldn't care about the conversations they would have behind her back. She could care about what Hotch would think, or Morgan for that matter. All she cared about was leaving this place. Solving this case and going back to Washington.

* * *

December.

Monday.

Same day.

20.54

She had wanted to sneak out. Go stealth like they do in the movies and disappear in the darkness of the night. Unfortunately, she literally bumped into Morgan on her way to the elevator. Out the window, the plan went. Honestly, she hoped she wouldn't walk into Hotch. Or Reid. Or Rossi, even, but walk straight in the arms of Morgan was something she hadn't count on. He had narrowed his brows and curiously looked at her while asking what she was doing. Abby, mentally debating _lie truth lie truth_, eventually settled on the truth. "I was just heading out."

"Where to?"

"I wanted to talk to Padre. It's Monday, they used to play bingo at the centre, though I'm not sure if they still do. I was hoping to catch them on their corner where they usually have a drink before heading off to their respective abandoned houses, spots under the bridges or.. Reserved places in the gutter."

"You were planning on going alone? At night?" Morgan couldn't have possible looked any more confused and curious.

Abby shrugged. "Well, I was of course going to fill you guys in on it. I just -.. There's something, right _there_. I just… Don't know what it is yet. I was hoping that if I talked to Padre, he might know something we're missing. And, fyi-" Abby leant forward, as if telling him a secret, "- I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

Instead of yelling at her, reprimanding her or sending her back to her room, he smiled lightly. "I know you can. Give me a sec, I'll go with you. I need some action or else I'll kill myself."

"Uhm.. Okay, I guess?"

Padre and his wild bunch were a small group of elderly, homeless men that had lived on the streets probably longer that Abby had lived in the first place. They knew everything that was going on in their area. It was just Abby's luck that the crime scenes were at most ten minutes from their corner. If someone knew or saw anything, they would know about it. One of Abby's first cases with the DEA involved two fourteen year old girls that overdosed on bad drugs. Both girls knew Padre and he would always wave at them when they walked to school. He was upset to learn about their deaths and had been bugging Abby about anything involving the case. He gave her leads, tips, information that eventually led to Abby's first big case breakthrough. Thanks to Padre, she was able to provide enough information to clean up an eight-man-crew and claimed over 800 grand worth of bad X. Ever since, Abby would walk past his corner on her way to the SCU, bring coffee for him and his friends, chat and whenever she needed _anything_ – she would go to Padre.

Abby told Morgan the story as they comfortably drove towards the corner of Peachtreestreet and Edgewood Avenue; the place many true Atlanta residents will refer to 'Five Points' – the heart of the city. Ironically enough, Padre and his friends 'owned' corner right across from the Fulton police station. Red, white and yellow street lights decorated the darkness, light bulbs danced around trying to uncover shades with odd shapes. To Abby, this city was magical.

And one of its better aspects: you could park your car practically anywhere you wanted. Nobody really cared unless they wouldn't be able to get through, hence no one really looked up when Abby parked her car on partly on the sidewalk and stepped out. Morgan waited for her on the other side of the car, looking around with an expression of which Abby couldn't be sure: taking in his surroundings or just plain sightseeing. She secretly smiled at herself before stopping dead in her tracks.

"Oh. My. God."

A tall, chubby but skinny-faced man turned around. His brown, torn-and-taped-together hat, one he always wore, rested on a bald head. He had sparkling eyes, with a pointy nose and long stretched cheekbones. He had seen a lot, Padre, but he never lost this sparkle. Underneath his coat he was wearing his usual dark green, stained shirt and a pair of grey (used to be white) trousers. His boats – with a zebra print – had holes in the sides and the heel of the right boot had been reattached with a rusty nail. It was the coat, however, that really did it; a bright pink, feathered coat with the end sweeping carelessly over the floor.

Padre laughed, loud and shrill, and it always reminded Abby, for some dark and abstruse reason, of rodeo. "What do you think, eh Frankie?" Clearly, he smoked cigars.

"Love, you know that's a girl's coat, right?" Abby said hesitantly and carefully.

Padre feverishly grabbed both sides and flapped them around his legs. "No, really? How could you tell, by the colour?"

Abby snorted and she could hear Morgan snort next to her. "Looks good on you Padre."

The man smiled, opened his arms and while hugging Abby loosely, he patted her on the back. "Thanks sweetheart." When she stepped back, he grabbed her by the shoulders. "No, care to explain where the hell you've been for the past seven months?" He stressed the importance of several words (at least two in every sentence) by emphasizing them. Altogether, Padre was one happy, cheery and merry man.

Abby made a sound that could have been a combination of 'meh' and 'uh' but before she could actually reply, Padre spotted Morgan.

"And who the hell are you?"

"Padre, relax. This is Derek Morgan. I work with him." Abby explained after jumping between them.

"Since when? What happened to Miles? Is he alright? Is he dead? Did his Latino fiancé kill him?"

Abby laughed again. "He's fine old man. And of course Louisa didn't kill him, silly. I got transferred."

"You WHAT?" Padre raised his arms to the sky. "Transferred?! Why on earth would anybody in their sane mind want to transfer you? We're all lost without you!"

"Beats me, but hey, listen-"

"Where is that David McCallister?" He spoke the name as if it was poison on his tongue and spun around. "I shall give him a piece of my mind, _and_ my ass." Several of the men that gathered every night at the corner of Five Points reacted to Padre's theatrical comedy act.

"Oi! Padre!" Abby snapped her fingers in front of his face to get his attention. "Sugar, you're drunk. No more booze for you tonight, alright?"

"Aaaalright."

"And can you cut the crap with the whole depressing clown act? Cool down, alright?"

"Since when are you telling me what to do?" Padre looked at her but then focussed on Morgan. "So. You're her new partner."

"Yes, sir." Morgan replied calmly and smiling.

"Do I look like a sir?" Morgan opened his mouth, but was cut off. "No, of course I don't, I'm wearing a pink coat for Pete's sake. Now, you listen to me and you listen very carefully brother. This here, is Abby Franklin Scott. And she is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Okay? If you really are her partner, you keep her save."

"Alright. I will." Morgan nodded and glanced at Abby.

"You promise me?"

"I promise you, Padre."

"You're a good man, Derek Morgan. Now, did she do that to you? Did she kick your ass? Cause if she did, you are not worthy of being her partner."

Morgan chuckled. "No, I got shot."

"Oh. Did she save your ass? I bet she did, that's Frankie, that's our Frankie. Always the hero, always saves the day. You know, she has a fine taste in men and an even better taste in partners, but for some reason she is never with a guy. Why is that Frankie-honey?"

"Padre." Abby stepped in, her voice cool and controlled. "I need your help."

It was as if a switch flipped on in Padre's head. Instantly, the clouds before his eyes disappeared, he stood up straight and focused all his attention on Abby. "Have you heard any rumours lately? About those four murders? One near the park, the other near Georgio, Charles-Washington under the bridge at Whithall street.."

Padre made an understanding noise. "Aaah, yes, I've heard about those murders. Awful, I heard the lady had three children. Such a shame. It's been awfully quiet lately, especially after that Wills-witch started watching every corner of this entire city, checking under every rock in search of a shade. I did hear though, I don't know if it's important or not, but I heard Crazy Billy talk about Homer the other day. Said he kind of lost it."

"Crazy Billy said that? Homer's alive?" Abby pressed on.

"Yeah. He said that Homer had been acting weird and crazy – screaming and shouting at everyone near him, he was calling out this name, Becky, and just running around. Poor bloke. I hope he's alright. Perhaps I'll invite him for bingo night next week."

"Alright, thanks pops."

"You're welcome sweetheart. You know, we really do miss you, you know."

Abby touched the older man's shoulder and smiled. "I know Padre, I miss you guys too."

"You take care of yourself, okay Frankie? And you come home, soon. Okay?"

"I'll try, dear friend. I'll try."

"And you-" Padre pointed his dirt stained finger at Morgan. "You better hold on to your promise mister."

"I will. Don't worry." Morgan and Abby turned back towards the car, not sure if they had gained anything other than an unusual experience, when Padre called out to her.

"Frankie?"

"Yeah?"

"Who saves the hero?'

"What?"

"He who catches those that fall, who will catch him, when he falls? Who, dear, saves the hero, when it's the hero, that needs to be saved?"

She couldn't reply. She could only just stand there and look at this man that was one of her strangest, but also dearest friends. That man that saw things others didn't. But, being who he is, Padre didn't wait for a reply. Instead he laughed again and pointed his finger at her again.

"And don't call me old man again, I'll race ya any given day Frankie Scott!"

She smiled, turned and walked past Morgan towards the car. Padre's words echoed in her head and for a second, the city lights seemed to shine brighter, brighter than the stars and they dazzled her. She could feel a tingle in her nose and felt she had to sneeze. _Near tears, they call this Frankie. Been a long time, eh?_

"You, Abby Scott." Morgan started as he rested his good arm on the roof of the car. "Have some _really_ dodgy friends."

She smiled. "Dodgy people have dodgy friends Morgan."

"This place." He looked around. "What is this place to you?" He asked gently.

She signed and placed with the keys on her hands, looking down and away from that man that could get anything out of her. And when she wouldn't give it to him, he would wait patiently for her to get what she needed and still answer his question. Derek Morgan was one of the few people that understood her because he gave her time and patience and when things seemed too hot to handle at first, he knew that Abby just needed some space and some patience and she could wear a blanket of alcohol set on fire. She inhaled deeply and looked up. "You ever felt like you belonged, Morgan? Like, there was no other place on earth? You're a tiny little wheel in the complicated mechanics behind a clock and you fit right in, right here. This is my clock and this is where I fit in. You know, I used to believe that, if I protected this city, it would protect me."

"I'd say you still feel pretty protective."

"Oh, I do. I protect Atlanta. Atlanta protects me. Done deal."

"And then they kicked you out." It was more of a revelation, a sudden insight, than an actual comment or remark. It was out before the tall, handsome man before he realised himself. Still, he looked at her, his expression open and ready for anything. But Abby didn't reply. She just looked at him.

"For what?" He asked.

She looked away and dangled the keys in her hand.

"You really miss this place, huh?"

"This is my home, Derek. This is my home." She replied, before smiling meekly and she stepped into the car.

* * *

_"A desire to be observed, considered, esteemed, praised, beloved, and admired by his fellows is one of the earliest as well as the keenest dispositions discovered in the heart of man."_

John Adams


	5. Upon the heart

"_And even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget, falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despite, against our will, comes wisdom to us, by the awful grace of God."  
_Agamemnon - Aeschylus

* * *

December.  
Tuesday.  
Next day.  
00.34

An inner debate. Inner discussion. Inner battle. Abby hated them. Reason and emotion and rationality and feeling all hyped up and facing each other. When in such moods, Abby knew reason and rationality would lose. They always did. It was like emotion held the gun and reason was on the receiving end. Soon, it would squeeze the trigger and she would lose. Again.

Atlanta was a special place to Abby. Not only was it her home, it was where she grew up. Where she had learnt her lessons, where she had fought and conquered, where she had lost and got lost. She made her first friend in Atlanta, her first real friend, at the age of 15. He was much older than her and the 'official' friendship didn't last long, but she still considered him a friend. Even if he didn't know, or didn't remember. Her family emigrated from England back in 1988, when she was six, and once upon arriving in Atlanta, she instantly knew that things were about the change. She could feel it. She didn't know about Descartes and Hobbes and Locke by then, so she didn't understand anything about reason and rationality yet, but she could feel it. Years later, she understood.

Atlanta was the place where she went to school and despite being the trouble maker of many classes, she aced all her tests. After a small detour from the main highway, she ended up back on her feet, graduated, kissed a sweet boy called Harry for the first time (if you didn't count the kiss she shared with Miles in kindergarten) and moved on towards university. Atlanta was where she got shot for the first time, in her right shoulder. It was the place where she had learnt about monsters and evil and bad people and bad habits. It was where she smoked her first cigarette when she was 15, where she used drugs for the first time. Atlanta was where she fell and scraped her knee for the first time; she was six and just two days in Atlanta.

Atlanta meant everything. Any minor and major event in Abby's life either happened in Atlanta, or was strongly connected to it.

And of course, it could only be the city that she loved so dearly that started to pull the strings, the traces of lies she had left behind her like an internet cable. Find it, connect it, discover it. Atlanta was like a mirror and Abby could feel the grip it held over her getting tighter. It suffocated her. Atlanta was a giant hand around her tiny body and it started squeezing. Depending on her actions and depending on her will power, it could soon squeeze too hard and snap her into two. If she let it. Then again. It was Atlanta. She couldn't do anything against her city or the feeling it gave her. If Atlanta wanted something from her, it would get it and she would allow it. Because that's how it worked. She protected Atlanta and Atlanta protected her.

Abby was halfway through a bottle of Jack Daniel's and was contemplating on drinking the rest when her mind stopped her. Just as she felt reason and rationality dying from gunshot wounds, there was a knock on the door.

Abby figured it was Morgan, or perhaps even Reid. Then again, both agents had been avoiding her. The first, she understood, but the latter, she didn't comprehend why Reid would avoid her. Perhaps she had done something, or said something. She couldn't remember. But when she opened the door, her Glock tucked behind the belt of her jeans, pressing gently against her back, it weren't either of the two agents.

She had heard stories that he was some sort of supernatural man. That he could see things, as if people were walking around with little signs on their foreheads he could read. They also said he could smell things from miles away, like he had a sixth sense about trouble and everything related. Abby would have liked to believe the stories cause she respected him, but if she would have stood on the other side of the doorway like he did, she wouldn't need x-ray vision or paranormal senses.

Besides. The smell of booze was clearly hanging in the air.

At first he didn't speak. He looked at her, almost pitiful.

"What do you want Rossi?" Abby snapped at him. She glanced at her watch. Nearly 2 A.M.

"I could use a drink. I was thinking of asking you to go the bar downstairs, but I see you helped yourself already." He answered coolly.

Abby had to use all her strength in order not to pull the gun from behind her jeans and blow her brains out.

"Whiskey?"

Abby shrugged carelessly.

"I always figured you were more of a bourbon type."

"I'm usually more of a vodka type." She retorted. She just handed herself a shovel to dig her own grave. In front of Rossi, nonetheless.

"Can I come in?" He asked kindly.

She knew he was going to judge her. She knew Hotch would hear about this before the sun came up. She knew Rossi would ruminate about this for years – probably till she died. She knew he would continue to check upon her, continue to secretly figure out what was going on and if she had drunk again. She knew. In this case, reason was surely heard. But the way he asked her to come in, was gently and caring and nice and friendly. It nearly broke her right there and then.

Atlanta always took care of her.

"Interesting." Rossi commented about the copied case file Abby had used to decorate her walls with. Four different cases hung upon four different walls.

She shrugged again and followed him with her eyes as he picked up the half-empty bottle. Rossi's head turned and looked at her, before his eyes found the door of the mini bar. Abby shook her head and Rossi put the bottle back on the table before turning towards her.

"What? You want me to start crying or something?"

"Is that what you want?" Rossi reflected.

She rolled her eyes. "Great. You know, Rossi, I really appreciate your visit, but I'm really not in the mood for this right now." Funny, she thought, when she was drunk her English accent always seemed a lot thicker than usual.

"I'm not her to ease my conscious Scott."

"Fine then." She interrupted him and threw her hands in the air. "Yell at me, put me back on my place for lying to you and to Hotch, lecture me about young versus old and experienced agents, about order and superiority, about hierarchy and respect and trust and then fuck off." Almost automatically, she wanted to reach for the bottle of redemption when it struck Abby; he was of course, still in the room and followed her every action, every movement, every emotion on her face.

She cursed again and kicked the wall.

"What the hell is going on with you Frankie?" Rossi's voice was still low, but he was agitated, she could tell.

"Right now?" She replied.

"How about since we arrived in Atlanta?" The elder agent shot back. His eyes were penetrating her mind, her head, dissecting everything. He stepped forward until he stood right in front of her. "Get yourself together Scott. All these months you've been trying to be the hard-ass of the group. You don't get to fall apart. Not now. We're in the middle of a case and whether we like it or not, we need you to help us solve this case. You know this city. Stunts like these" He paused and pointed at the bottle, "can't happen again. Ever. And if you have any sort of unfinished business with Wills or the SCU or your old team, solve it or leave it. You're working with the BAU, you're not here to reconcile with your previous team. You've had your chance. Now it's time you start acting like a part of the team you're in now. Figure out which side you're on. And do us all a favour and stop with all the drama, for Christ's sake. I'm sick of you controlling whatever happens in this team, it's always about you. It stops. Right here, right now. Am I clear?"

"Crystal."

Oh, he put her on her spot already. He tore apart the throne she felt like she had been sitting on and forced her back with both knees on the ground. And Abby hated it, but he was right.

* * *

December.  
Tuesday.  
Same day.  
07.34

JJ was an extraordinary, exceptional woman. Abby wouldn't know what she, what the team would do without her. Only minutes past half past eight and the pretty blonde walked in squeaky clean, cleaned from the horror of yesterday, fresh for the horror of today. Abby wondered how she did it. Knowing JJ, she would probably come up with an answer that said 'I'm not a profiler'. As if that would keep her safe from the harm and the morbid imagery they saw every single day, even on their days off. As she strode into team one's secondary room, she was carrying the team's morning coffee and holding a stack of files.

She looked like she was the light itself.

"You okay Frankie?" The blonde asked several seconds after entering the room.

"What?"

"You okay?" She repeated.

"Yeah." Abby mentally checked if she put a post-it on her forehead saying 'I got drunk last night and I'm so screwing everything up' that morning.

"You were.. Staring." JJ awkwardly explained as she put the coffee and the files down.

"Oh, sorry. I was just wondering how you do it every day. And don't answer that if you're going to tell me you're not a profiler again."

"Then I won't answer." She replied with a smile on her face. "You're here early."

"Couldn't sleep." It wasn't a lie, but it was about her. Again. More drama.

"You okay?" JJ asked for the third time that morning.

"Ya. I just-" _Draaamaa!_ "Nah. It's nothing. I'm good."

"Okay. Here." The communications liaison handed her a cardboard cup. "That should make you feel all better."

"You're a blessing JJ." Abby said to her, gratefully taking the hot coffee. It wasn't about her. And she meant it. No drama. All was well. "But seriously, JJ, how do you do it?"

"Do what?" JJ replied with an awkward grin.

"Do you even realise what you do for this team? What and who you are?"

JJ didn't answer.

"You're the glue, JJ."

"The glue?" She repeated, not too enthusiastic.

"Ya, the glue. You keep everything together. Hotch may be team leader, but if you ever leave, we would definitely lose our way. I don't know what we would do without you."

Three cups of traditional SCU morning coffee later, the team had assembled in the secondary room. Abby had positioned herself on a table in the corner and sat quietly watching the rest of the team. She feverishly avoided Rossi's looks, but the agent only sent her a strong glare once entering the room and then left her in ignorance. Hesitantly, Abby filled them in about her visit to Padre last night.

"Do you know 'Crazy Billy' or 'Homer'?" Hotch asked her once she was done talking.

Abby shrugged. "Crazy Billy I know. I also know why they call him 'Crazy Billy'. I think his real name is William Parker. As for Homer, I thought he was dead. He disappeared off the grid a couple of years ago."

"Garcia, look up Parker." Hotch said to the cheeky tech girl, whom, after confirmation, started typing.

"You've got a name for this Homer character as well?" Rossi asked the young agent coolly.

She shook her head.

"Alright. We need to look at this again. We're obviously missing something." Hotch started. Almost automatically, the team sat down, their coffee placed in front of them, steam arising and dissipating in the air with the soft chatter of Garcia's fingernails on her keyboard. Wills finally delivered the tape. Well, not personally, of course not.

"He's homeless. All four crime scenes have occurred close to places where homeless people are known for to hang around. If he is homeless, combined with the erratic behaviour and disorganisation, it's possible he is suffering from a mental illness or an addiction." Reid said. He, and Abby, we're the only ones not seated. The young genius stood in front of the bulletin board, one arm across his stomach, the other resting upon it so his hand could somehow protect his mouth. From what?

"Washington was found under the bridge. It was known for local drug dealers, addicts and homeless persons to squat there." Prentiss filled in as she took a sip of her coffee. She looked more pale than usual, Abby noticed. Like she hadn't slept well. Now that she mentioned it to herself, Hotch didn't look too hot either. There were slightly visible bags under his eyes. He looked exhausted. Abby wondered if he should, perhaps, take some time off. A lot of things had happened in the past seven, eight months. She wondered how they coped all the time. What they saw, what they did, it was bound to do something to a person. Not to Abby though, she was pretty sure she was emotionally detached or something. Or, possibly, just plain cold inside.

"He was protecting something." Morgan suddenly said. Abby thought for sure that his eyes had lingered over her shortly before he spoke, but she couldn't be sure. _Don't be stupid, Frankie. You must still be drunk. Thinking about drunk, Hotch hasn't even so much as sent me a miniature evil glare. I wonder if Rossi told him yet…_

"Makes sense. If would mean why he lashed out so badly." Rossi commented.

"He was hiding. Protecting himself and something or someone. That's why our Unsub was at the restaurant. He needed food because he missed the usual hand out at five o'clock. Our second vic, Alexander Brooks, he was on the phone. He could have been startled enough if he felt like people were after him."

"But who or what is he protecting?" JJ asked, her head switching from Morgan to Hotch on the other side of the room.

"More importantly, is it real?" Hotch looked at the papers in his hands as if they would tell him, secretly in whispers and a forbidden language.

"Guys." Garcia cued in. She looked up. "I think you should see this." She pressed a few last buttons on her laptop and opened up a video file on the large flat screen that hung behind them. "This is the video Wills finally gave to us."

Garcia pressed play and the scene begun to unfold.

_It was dark, late at night. The time indicator read ten forty-five. Alexander Brooks was on his way home. The team watched him exit the subway, right in the centre of the screen. He couldn't have stopped at a better spot to pick up his phone. Behind him, a large rock moved, stirred shaking and rudely awoken. As it turned, fear was lit in his eyes. He had a large beard that covered most of the lower part of his face. He wore an old hat and he had draped a rugged cloak around his shoulders. His jeans were too big, his shoes too, most likely. He hadn't washed in weeks, months even, and Abby saw his cheekbones stand out so vividly, she wondered when the last time was he had eaten. _

They watched Brooks head South, slowly moving towards the end of the screen. Their Unsub hid behind the trash can he had been sleeping behind and watched him closely. Fear had turned into pure hatred. A couple of seconds after Brooks was out of sight, the man stood up, crouched forward, and followed him. They could all imagine what happened after that.

"That's our Unsub." Prentiss stated.

"Most likely, yes. Abby, do you recognise him?" Hotch asked her. She shook her head.

"What is he holding in his hand?" Reid suddenly asked absentminded. He was still looking at the screen. "Garcia, can you play it back?"

"Yeah."

"There! Freeze it."

The screen froze on command and Reid pointed his long and skinny finger at something he thought the Unsub was holding. "Right there, what is that?"

"A blanket?" Rossi said. "There was one man who thought he saw two people fight over a blanket the night Sally Burke was killed."

"Can you zoom in Garcia?"

"Of course." Garcia pressed a couple of buttons and enlarged the Unsub.

"It is a blanket." Reid stated dully.

"Is that going to lead us somewhere?" JJ asked carefully.

"Probably not." The young agent replied discouraged.

"Maybe not. If he was fighting with someone else about that blanket, it could be of great importance to him." Morgan said. "That blanket is probably our connection to whomever he is trying to protect. Or, tried, to protect."

"That could be his stressor, loss of a loved one." Prentiss added, sounding almost excited. They were finally going somewhere.

"Scott."

"Yeah." Abby responded right away at the sound of her supervisor.

"Take Morgan - " _Why Morgan? He's still injured. Field work is not a good idea, Chief_. "- talk to Towers and Parker. Perhaps they've seen him or know him. If not, ask around. He looks like he's been living on the streets for a long time, someone must know him or at least have seen him."

"On it." Abby placed the cup on the desk behind her and grabbed her jacket. Morgan rose from his chair and did the same.

"Wait. Guys." JJ said suddenly, her voice predicting nothing good. "Garcia, can you zoom in some more?"

"Yeah. What are you looking for JJ?"

"That's a children's blanket. Look at the patterns. Ducks."

"Oh God." Garcia piped. "Please don't tell me we're going to have to look for a baby."

"Hopefully not." JJ replied thoughtless.

Hotch' stern and worried face turned to Abby. She already spoke before he could. "We're on it, Chief."

* * *

December.  
Tuesday.  
Same day.  
10.10

Abby and Morgan had wandered around the streets of Downtown Atlanta for quite a while now. They had found Crazy Billy, but he lived up to the nickname that had once been given to them and only rambled about how Homer stole his food and attacked him after Billy wanted to use his blanket. By the time he had finished telling the story, he was so wound up he couldn't even look at the picture anymore. He stormed off, an empty bottle in one hand, the plastic bags that contained everything he owned, in the other.

Just as Abby was considering routing the troops and get Padre and the Wild Bunch to find their Unsub, Morgan's phone rang. He was only on it shortly and it ended with a simple 'Okay'.

"We got him?"

"We do?" Abby asked surprised.

"Garcia ran a facial comparison once she had cleaned up the image and removed the beard. She came up with a hit in the DMV database. Sander White, do you know him?"

"No. Do we have an address?

"No. That's the downside. The driver license was six years old. After he lost his company he lost everything. Sold his house, his car, everything. His wife and daughter left him after doctors diagnosed him with schizophrenia."

"He does fit the profile."

"Hotch wants us back at the SCU, from there on we'll draw our plan to catch him before anyone else gets hurt."

Once back at the SCU, Abby noticed the abnormal silence. The primary _and_ secondary team weren't at their usual places and she figured they headed out. She hoped they wouldn't fly all the way to Dumfries because she forgot to vacuum and didn't buy any cookies to go with the tea. She smiled at her own thoughts before entering the room. Morgan and Abby immediately spotted Garcia and Hotch in a corner, huddled away, looking at a case file. Reid avoided eye contact and Prentiss looked like she could strangle someone any second.

"What's going on?" Morgan asked.

Hotch waited a couple more seconds, it looked like he waited for Garcia; once she shook her head, he turned with the case file in his hand and slid it across the table. Morgan grabbed it, his eyes darting from the faces in the room until they settled on the case file.

"That's Sander White. Our Unsub." Hotch told them.

Abby stared at the photo and her eyes went big. "Wow, wow, that's Sander White?!" Her eyes were directed at Hotch. "That's our Unsub?"

"Perhaps you recognize him?" Rossi said to her.

"That's-.. That's Homer." Abby let out stuttering, taken by the suprisal blow.

"He was a person of interest in one of your investigations two years ago."

"Yeah." Abby's strong voice faltered. "He disappeared around the same time a ten year old girl disappeared as well. Viola Banks. She was severely mentally challenged. I thought it was suspicious but after wasting two weeks locating Homer, I let it go. I figured Homer ended up in a ditch somewhere. I never found-… Oh God.." She covered her face with her hands and turned her back on the group. Morgan still didn't understand until Prentiss handed him a photo of ten-year old Viola Banks. She was holding a blanket, with little yellow ducks dashed all over it. He glanced at Hotch for confirmation.

"Did you know?" Hotch asked Abby.

"Know what?" She shot back, her back still turned towards him.

"That 'Homer' was Sander White? That he was our Unsub?"

Now, she pivoted on her feet. "Excuse me?! I may conceal the truth to protect dead people, I don't lie about ordinary Unsubs, Hotch. Of course I did not know. I would have told you the second I saw him. When I looked at that security tape I saw someone I did not recognise. Because the Homer I know does not look like that."

"Looks like things have heated up quite badly in here." David McCallister stood in the doorway. He had put his hands inside the pockets of his cheap black suit and stood calmly in the doorway. He shrugged when he noticed the looks that were sent towards him. "I heard you have found your Unsub."

Rossi handed him the case file and they let McCallister quickly scan through. "I always found Homer such a kind man."

"You knew him?" JJ asked.

"Frankie and I both worked the Banks case." He replied.

"We'll be setting up check points, stake out known hotspots. Thanks to the geographical profile we have we were able to determine his comfort zone. If we're lucky we'll have him by tomorrow." Hotch informed the broad-shouldered man.

"Call Atlanta PD. Mention 'FBI', 'SCU', 'murderer' and 'McCallister' in one sentence and they'll come flying." The SCU leader said as he put the case file back on the table.

"Thank you."

"Is there a chance that the girl is still alive?" McCallister asked carefully. No one dared to answer that.

Hotch grabbed his jacket and headed towards the door, the rest of the team quickly following. "Scott. You stay."

"Yes, sir."

"Good luck." McCallister had made way for the team to exit and now stood next to Abby. She followed her team with her eyes until they had disappeared from her sight.

"Looks like you screwed things up."

"It's a talent."

McCallister snorted. "What'd you do?"

Abby didn't reply.

"Whatever it is, Frankie, you better fix it before it's too late. They don't trust you anymore."

"I don't think they ever trusted me."

For a moment, they shared a look and then McCallister patted her on the shoulder once before leaving her with herself.

* * *

_"I desire not to desire, for my will is without value, since I am ignorant in any case. Therefore choose Thou for me what thou knowest to be best and do not put my perdition in what my autonomy and free choice prefer."_

Bayazid Al-Bistami


	6. My soul to take

"_Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take."  
_Child's bedtime prayer - 18th century

* * *

December.  
Tuesday.  
Same day.  
15.01

Her foot impatiently bobbed up and down. By now, she had smoked at least a dozen cigarettes and drank four cups of coffee. All the while, she held her phone in her hand, waiting to be relieved from this incredible burden she was wearing. Garcia had left the room shortly after the team did and God knew where she was right now. Perhaps she was enjoying the many technical masterpieces the SCU owned, perhaps she was out sightseeing or whatever. Abby couldn't care less. She just wanted her damn phone to ring.

Whether or not she had to blame herself, she left open for debate. She didn't want to think about it, especially not now. No. Now was the time to smoke, drink coffee, bob with feet and anxiously eating yourself up.

_Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. Alive. Not alive. _

She wished someone would call and give her _some_ piece of information. Hell, something to do even. But it some sort of radio silence had been inserted and she remained in the dark and deaf. She had already passed the stages of anger and self-inflicting guilt. Perhaps it was her fault, perhaps not – all she knew was that she did try to find Homer, that there had been a suspicion right underneath her skin and that she was right. She spent two weeks trying to find him and after no success, she drew the only logical conclusion. The homeless man had died. It happened all the time. Had he not taken Viola Banks, no one would have looked at his disappearance twice. He would eventually be swept up by cleaners – humans or animals.

When her phone suddenly rang, she jumped slightly. Cursing at herself, she checked the number and picked up. "Reid."

"We got him." The clear voice of her favourite genius announced.

Abby let out a sigh in relief. "You did? That's good."

"He confessed and everything."

"He did? Good, good. So, you had him in custody."

There was a short pause. "Yeah. We did. Prentiss and Rossi got him to talk real easy."

"And the girl? Viola Banks?"

Another pause. Abby bit her lip and leant back in her chair. _Anti__-climax._

"She died two weeks ago. It's what started the whole event. Apparently, the way he tells is, they met and felt connected. They became friends and someway, somehow, she ended up with him in the streets. When she died, he lost all control over reality."

Abby pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yeah. Okay, thanks Reid."

"Hey-" Reid waited and when he spoke again, he spoke softer. "Are you okay?"

"I uhm-… I got a lot on my mind. But I'm fine Smartie-pants."

"You know I hate it when you call me that, right?"

"You hate it when Garcia calls you 'sugar'." She replied playfully.

"True. Okay, then I guess we'll see you in a bit."

"Ya. See ya."

She hung up and was overwhelmed by a feeling of discouragement and failure. All this time, he had been right underneath her nose, yet she couldn't catch him. If she couldn't catch a simple homeless man, how would she ever be able to catch _him_?

"Hey." Garcia stood in the doorway with a small smile on her face. She waited and looked at Abby, almost pitiful. "Did they get him?"

Abby nodded and threw her phone on the table. "Ya. They had him in custody. He confessed a couple of minutes ago. Viola Banks is dead, probably what triggered him."

"Oh no…" Garcia mumbled when she heard the news. She sat down next to Abby and they remained in silence for a couple of seconds. When Abby finally looked at her, she noticed that the blonde had been looking at her as well.

"You know, I'm not going to ask you if you're okay. Or if you want to talk about. Or what's going on. Because I know you will either lie or hate me for asking. Which is fine. If you don't want to open up to me, that's fine. We aren't best friends and we don't have to be. But I am saying that if you don't open up to _somebody_, you're going to end up drowning in a pool of sorrow and misery, or old and alone."

"As long as I don't end up with cats…" Abby joked, but there was no real trace of humour in her voice.

"Want to go get a coffee?" Garcia asked gently.

Abby sighed. "No, thanks. I think I'll just start packing. Say goodbye to McCallister."

"Talking about McCallister-" Garcia leant forward. "- what exactly happened between you two?"

"He always favoured Miles instead of me." She winked and stood up, slowly gathering things as Garcia followed her lead and helped her clean out the room and put all their bad memories in cardboard boxes. As if they could contain them dreams.

Suddenly, Garcia stopped doing what she was doing and sighed, avoiding eye contact with the Brit. Abby noticed her tensed shoulders and gloomy mien and stopped as well, waiting for the tech to talk. Instead of talking, Garcia looked up, her eyes big and wide and honest. She stuttered before she managed to speak. "You know, Frankie, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, about everything. I know we didn't treat you well when you first got here, I know we didn't give you a warm welcome. And I know that there are a lot of things going on in your personal life that you don't want to talk about to any of us, but I also know when someone is pretending everything is fine, when it's not and I'm telling you, Frankie, I know you're pretending you're fine, but everybody can see that you're not. You're not. And it's okay, but please stop pushing us away."

"I'm-." Abby said softly, but before she could elaborate, she was cut off.

"Abby, you haven't even mentioned Paul Newman." Garcia told her, her voice now lower than before. It was an almost correctional tone. When Abby didn't reply and stared at the contents of the box in front of her, Garcia let out a deep sigh. "At some point, you'll reach a moment at which nobody even wants to try, anymore, Abby. Don't. You don't have to tell anyone how you feel, but just say _something_ because we all know Newman is bothering you."

"You wanna know how I feel?" Abby's head shot up and burning eyes met a startled Garcia. "How could you possibly understand?"

"I don't know. But I could try." Garcia argued back.

"Then try to understand this. I fucked up. I made a mistake and sent in my team, I sent in my mentor and he never got out. That's on me and that's my fault and they gave him the death penalty. Do you know what that means, Garcia?" The tech shook her head with a saddened look on her face. "That means that some random person is going to kill the man that deserved to be locked away in my basement until the torture killed him! How could _you_, or anyone else for that matter, understand? You don't know me, Garcia, and that's the whole point. I don't want you to know me, I don't want you prying into my business. I want to do my job and then go home. So back off and fuck off."

If Garcia felt hurt, she didn't show. She only looked at Abby, her expression blank and nodded. "Okay, Frankie. If that's what you want."

Abby followed her with her eyes as the blonde headed towards the exit. Before she left the room, however, she turned. "But just so you know, I'm not one of those people that at some point, at some moment, stops trying."

_Oh dear Garcia, we know._

* * *

December.  
Tuesday.  
Same day.  
16.08

Around half past three, both the primary and the secondary team had returned 'home' and returned to their respective areas for debriefs. Abby, getting tired of being inside and staring at pictures of people with mashed up faces and feeling terrible after falling out to Garcia, decided to go out for a smoke. Just as Miles had gathered his courage and stepped outside as well, Abby's own team arrived. Abby, unsure of what to do, just strolled towards the main entrance, still smoking, and waiting for someone to speak. Reid smiled. JJ smiled as well. Prentiss walked right past her. Rossi gave her something that looked like a nod. Morgan just looked at her, with those dark and piercing eyes. Hotch stopped and sighed before speaking.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions that fast."

"I don't blame you." Abby replied and blew out some smoke.

"You should." He shot at her.

Abby's head snapped towards him and her eyes were captured by her boss'. "Because that would mean that we had no right, no solid ground. But apparently we do and that's what worries me. Somehow, something went wrong that made us end up here and like this. And Abby, I am trying to fix it and get it together, but it just seems like you don't want to fix it. Like you don't care. We get it. We know you don't want to be here. We know you miss this place and that this is your home and that this is where you feel like you're abilities are best used. But it's not the case. And right now, you're acting like a child that doesn't get what he wants. He's stubborn and perverse. Truthfully, it's getting annoying. Tension and irritation are building up and I've only got one option left."

She stood there in silence as she let her cigarette butt fall on the ground and she put it out with the tip of her shoe.

"Abby, I get that you've got trust and perhaps even bonding issues, we all have brains and we're all profilers. Some things we can't shut off, so we know. But for some reason you keep shutting us down and we're all reaching that point to which we say 'it's enough'. We're close to 'done with you', Abby. Do you even realise that?"

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry." Hotch repeated. "That's all you've got to say?"

She opened her mouth, but nothing would come out. Hotch walked away without another word and Abby knew that this time, this time she had screwed up more than humanly possible. She lit another cigarette as Miles stopped next to her.

"Butterfly effect."

"What?"

"The Butterfly effect. The theory that one single change can lead to much larger differences." Miles explained.

"I know what the Butterfly effect means, Miles." She said to him.

Miles shrugged. "I'm just saying."

"What are you saying, exactly?"

"Wills should have never kicked you off the team. A lot of things wouldn't have happened then." Her best friend solemnly admitted.

"We wouldn't have caught the Whitewater Creek Killer." She replied.

"Oh. We would have. Perhaps a little later. With a few more dead bodies behind his name. But we would have."

"I've really fucked up Miles."

He pocketed his hands once he tossed his cigarette away. "Then fix it."

"I don't think I can. I don't know I want to."

Miles was silent, pondering over the words his friend just uttered. He looked at her with a strange expression. Caring, worrying, concerned?

"I don't know if I care anymore."

"Louis called an hour ago. She wants you to come over for Christmas."

"Louisa knows I'm working." Abby replied.

"Louisa knows you're always working on Christmas. Take a holiday for Christ's sake. You're losing it, Frankie." Miles told her.

Louisa was Miles' perfect fiancé. They often joked that she was the mother and they the two children needing care and a watchful eye. Which is why they would often use the phrase ' Louisa says', 'Louisa wants', as if putting the sentence that way, there was no possibility of escaping. Because Louisa was an angel and there was no soul on earth whom could say no to her.

"Try to get a day off, Abby. Perhaps it'll do you some good." He tugged her arm shortly and smiled. Any issues or fights between them had already been long forgotten. That's how they rolled. That's how they worked.

"Perhaps I just don't deserve this anymore."

"Or perhaps you do." Miles chuckled. "God works in mysterious ways, dear Frankie."

She managed to chuckle, but her heart was heavy and her mind was weary.

* * *

December 24th.  
Tuesday.  
Same day.  
19.55

"Frankie, are you ready?" Reid asked Abby through her hotel door. "The rest already went towards the airport." Pause. "We really should be going." Another pause. "Frankie?"

'Frankie' was laying arms spread on her bed, her eyes open and staring at the ceiling, but registering nothing. The room was rather dark, only the nightstand lamp was turned on. After Abby had finished packing, she turned off the rest of the lights to stay friends with the slight headache she had encountered. During her journey to gather her belongings, she found the world spinning more than once and black stars dashed her vision. The room was damp, hence she had opened all the windows to make it easier to breathe. Not even Reid's voice nor the knocks on her door could break the trance she was in and she remained laying on the bed sheets, resting comfortably.

"Frankie?!" His voice was more persistent now and she feared he would kick in the door soon, or rather, get Morgan to kick the door in for him.

"Coming, I'm coming, hold yer horses Smartie." Sighing heavily, Abby lifted herself from the bed with a little effort and stumped her way to the light wooden door. "What?"

Reid studiously looked at her before opening his mouth to speak. "We should get to the airport."

"Ya. I'm ready." She grabbed her backpack and go bag and exited the room.

After checking out, they reached the front doors and stepped into the clear night. The weather was nice, as it always was in Atlanta. A cool breeze gently caressed her face and brushed up against her like a cat. The SUV was parked near the exit and Abby sought the keys until she heard them dangle in the air. As she looked up, she found Reid with the keys in his hand.

"You left them in the door."

Glaring at her favourite team member, she snatched the keys from his grip and pushed the button to open the car. When she opened the back, four go bags had been neatly put away already.

"Christ, what's all this? Are we the mule or something?" She muttered vehement.

"What?"

"Look at all these bags, they just dumped everything in this car. What, are we supposed to carry it to the airport as well?"

"I don't know"

"It was a rhetorical question, Smartie."

"I know." Reid shot back a little defensive, again eyeing her cautiously.

Sighing once again, Abby placed her bags next to the others as Reid did the same. She didn't know how fast to get out of this town. She longed for a hot bath, a cup of coffee and a fag. And a good night sleep. December was taking a heavier toll on her than she figured. The lack of sleep and the sudden workload didn't make it any easier, either. It seemed that with the end of the year ahead of them, a lot of serial killers decided to speed up on their 'things to do, people to kill' list, unsatisfied perverts wanted to crack up their rankings and unhappy spouses finally found the time to get rid of their once loved ones before the end of the year. December was always a crazy time, especially for Abby.

Because to her, December stood for a hell of a lot of different things as well; aching memories and relapsing shadows. Distant screams and agonizing flashbacks. December was hard, and not only because she was once again confronted by the fact that she had no family to celebrate with.

Reid was silently sitting next to her, for the first time ever probably. He was fidgeting with the button on his sleeve and casually glanced around as they headed towards the airport. Abby stole a few glances and rubbed her eyes.

"I'm sorry."

Reid's head snapped in her direction. "For what?"

"For being so snappy. I'm really tired."

"It's okay." He smiled apologetic and Abby caught a glimpse of it. "I think I get it."

"Get what."

"With what's been going on."

Abby frowned. "What has been going on."

She could tell Reid got nervous; he avoided her line of sight and picked at his jeans. "Hotch sort of told me what happened. With Atlanta and your team and Wills and all."

"Paul Newman you mean?" There was a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. God, she hated that name.

"No. With the transfer." He corrected her softly.

"Oh." Was all she could reply.

"I'm sorry."

Pause.

"Don't be." She bit her tongue.

"Do you smell that?" Reid suddenly asked and turned around in his seat, looking for the origin.

"Smell what?" In her rear-view mirror, she suddenly noticed the squad car. Quickly, she checked her speed but when she found the image again in the mirror, the scenery was already lit by red and blue lights. "What the hell?"

"What?"

"There's a police car behind us ordering us to pull over." She informed her colleague.

"What?! Why?"

"I don't know Reid, there's no sign hanging out the window why." Mentally, she smacked her forehead for being so snappy against one of the few persons that had been nice to her. A small sneer was formed at her face yet it faded quickly and she pulled the SUV over to the side. Both Abby and Reid got out.

"Don't move!" The officer coming from the driver's side immediately shouted. They had raised their flashlights and the other hand gripped tightly around the butt of their holstered weapons.

"FBI! Relax officer, we're FBI." Abby called back and she and Reid approached the two officers. For a second, she wondered why the hell an Atlanta police officer did not recognise her. Then again, she had been gone for seven months and even before, not _everybody_ knew her.

"What's going on officers?" Reid asked.

"Abby Scott?" The first spoke again.

Abby glared at Reid and nodded. "Yes." Now she started to wonder. If they knew her name, they should know her reputation. Why didn't they? Or we're they just being extremely polite and strict to the book?

"I'm going to have to search your vehicle, ma'am." Mister Police man explained simply, but strongly.

"Why?"

"Are you two armed?" This time the second cop, coming from the passenger's seat, his hand still resting on his gun belt, asked.

"Uhm.. Yes." Reid replied. _He should have added 'Duh'. He would have gotten away with it._

Abby was still eyeing the two officers.

"I would like your guns, please."

"What the hell is this about?" She said fierce.

"Your guns please." The police officer repeated.

"I'd like some ID first if you don't mind."

"Of course not ma'am."

"It's agent." She shot back.

Both of them ignored her and grabbed their badges and ID and Abby checked them quickly, flashing from their faces to their badges and to Reid. Richard Jameson and Winston Trenton. She nodded but didn't do anything else.

"Your gun, please, ma'am." Jameson told her.

"I am not handing you anything before you tell me what the fuck's going on here, _officer_." She replied snappy.

Both officers slowly reached for their own guns again when Reid stepped in. "Abby, please, just – Just give them your gun, okay?" He said to her. She looked at her friend sternly before reluctantly handing them her weapon. She noted that they were both men and wondered if that was a coincidence when Reid handed his revolver to the cop. They shared a confused look and in the shadows, with bleak city lights, without her gun safely attached to her hip, she felt awfully exposed. Naked. What the hell was going on?

"Could you open the trunk please, ma'am?"

"Do you have a warrant?"

"Frankie. Please, just, get this over with." Reid said to her with small pleading eyes. He too didn't like any of this. She sent them one last look, knowing that she had a backup gun tucked behind the waistband of her khaki trousers, and turned to the car to fulfil Jameson's request. Jameson and Trenton moved forward and as Jameson, probably the most experienced, stood at a small distance to make sure neither Reid nor Abby would do anything stupid, Trenton searched the car. The agent's go bags were opened and put aside, one by one.

"Would you mind telling us what this is about?" Reid asked polite, but in a way that he was willing to step on his stripes when it was needed. In the end, they outranked the two officers.

"We will in a few minutes, agent."

Abby was living in a glass snow ball. Someone had picked up her life and shook it, before placing it on the table and observe the way the snowflakes fell down. Her nostrils picked up an all too familiar scent, one that she was sure she wouldn't smell for the next twenty-four hours. She tore her gaze from Jameson and witnessed Trenton stepping back with disgust written on his face. The elder cop immediately sprang into action. His hand flew back to his gun and positioned himself across from Abby.

"Hands on the car!"

Abby, dazzled by the events around her, stood frozen for a few seconds.

"Put your hands on the car ma'am!" Jameson shouted with more force. He had drawn his gun and pointed it at Abby. Reid stepped forward but Trenton stepped up, holding up his hand, the other on his holster, keeping him away and also ordered him to put his hands against the car.

"You have the right to an attorney. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. If you-"

"I'm an FBI agent, prick, I think I know my rights. And right now, I know I have the right to know what the hell is going on here!" The short tempered agent nearly screamed and kicked against the tire of the car. This startled Jameson and he grabbed her roughly, violently turning her arm on her back. He holstered his weapon and put the flashlight away before grabbing his cuffs and putting them around Abby's wrists. Abby sought Reid and he too looked unsure of the situation.

Then her eyes caught the faint light in the darkness in the car and looked closer. The first of the four go bags that had been placed in the SUV before Abby and Reid arrived at their car, was opened by officer Trenton. Vaguely, she managed to find the beginnings and endings of a leg and an arm. And on that arm was an unusual scar painted. One she recognized. One that caused her heart to skip a beat and her legs to temporarily fail under her weight, partially slamming into the car, Jameson pushing her back and grabbing an even tighter grip around her wrists. Her mind was erased and she forgot everything else. She forgot the stars and the full grown moon. The blue and red lights that danced in front of her face. She forgot about Reid and the metal cuffs around his boney wrists. She forgot about the smell and about Jameson and Trenton. She even forgot about Atlanta and Hotch as she whispered in disbelieve and heartbroken.

"Oh my God…. Louisa."

* * *

"_All things appear and disappear because of the concurrence of causes and conditions. Nothing ever exists entirely alone; everything is in relation to everything else."  
_Buddha


End file.
